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The Rise and Fall of a Lesbian Situationship
chapter two- knee deep in the passenger seat
contains: butch4femme, jealousy, praise kink, derogatory praise, fingering, strap-on, intox, slight overstim, strap sucking, car sex
Midterms chew you up and spit you out. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally, and you’ve never been so fucking needy in your life.
You’ve been neglecting yourself lately. It’s been two weeks since you last saw Miron. The first time you canceled on her, you’d lost track of time at the library. When she texted you at 10:30pm, asking if you wanted chicken or tofu in your noodles, you realized with regret there was no possible way you could meet her. You needed to work through at least half of your 16-page research paper before you could leave and you had just crested page five.
YOU: fuck i’m sorry, i lost track of time and i’m stuck at the library… order without me, i don’t think i’ll be leaving until the library closes :\
MIRON: no worries, i’ll just have them deliver to u. i know u haven’t eaten today, lol
You could have tried to argue about the takeout—you hate handouts—but you’re just too focused and too tired to fight. And she was right. You hadn’t eaten.
The second time you canceled, which was yesterday, you’d had the wherewithal to text them early in the day. You told them the truth, which was that your Advanced Calc II exam was in the morning and you were neurotic and anxious and needed the time to study. Miron had replied with something nice and bland and that was that.
But your dry spell has expanded past just Miron. In the last few weeks, you’ve hardly touched yourself either. When you have, it’s been brief and efficient, something to help you go to sleep at night after you’ve hit your dab pen a few times. You might take the time to make yourself wet, or you may just spit on your fingers and touch yourself roughly, rubbing your clit furiously. You think of her, though, oh of course you think of her, and it’s the thought of her head between your legs that gets you off both times.
(Shit. You’ve been thinking about that more lately—Miron Sikkari’s dark head of curls between your thighs, her mouth sucking in your clit, her tongue in your hole.
Maybe the distance has made your pussy fonder but the anxiety you normally have, the one that worries you’ll take too long, that you won’t taste good, just isn’t there.
You want it. God, you fucking want it.)
So, you haven’t seen Miron in weeks and you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of taking care of your own needs, sexual or otherwise.
As such, your diet has consisted mostly of iced coffees, McChickens and microwaveable mac and cheese. At night time, even if you were trying to sleep, the lesbian couple sharing the room above yours has been fighting all week. One of them had cheated on the other at a party last weekend and you and the entire building have been privy to the details of that infidelity all week.
You’re sober and horny and exhausted.
It’ll be three more days before you know whether or not you passed your Advanced Calc II exam. You spent all week studying, working through practice problems and old homework, and none of it felt like enough when you sat down to take it earlier that morning.
You remember the GPA requirement for your full-ride scholarship, the one you are barely meeting, and your gut twists with anxiety.
You’ve been trying so hard but life has you pulled in a million directions—you’re taking 6 three credit-hour courses and a 1 hour lab. On weekdays, when you aren’t in class, you’re at work-study on campus or studying in your dorm; on weekends, you work at the upscale steakhouse in town and sometimes you write for the university’s paper for extra cash. You have, on occasion, been known to donate plasma on Mondays.
Except for Thursday nights, you never make time for yourself. There are always better things to do with your time than self-care. Like the library.
You don’t go out. Ever.
But this time, you’re breaking your ‘no parties, no distractions’ rule. Your manager, Greg, gave you the weekend off after he found you sobbing in the cooler two hours ago. All you want to do is get drunk, maybe a little crossed, and forget that you are failing spectacularly in all areas of your life.
You call Tara, your best friend, from your car, hiccuping into the speaker as you drive home. She comforts you and promises to be your driver and babysitter while you get properly trashed. You deserve a break, babe. Tara is more than willing to give up alcohol for the evening if it means getting you to come along with her anywhere on a Friday night.
There’s a party going on at some house outside city limits and Tara promises it’s just the place to be. You’re not the only one with a plan to blow off steam after midterms.
The two of you currently meander down a gravel road in Tara’s newer-model sedan, eyes searching for a light in the dark.
You fiddle with your dab pen in your lap while a queer pop song plays through the stereo. Tara complains that the potholes are going to ruin her shocks—or maybe it’s the struts. You’re not really paying attention, truth be told.
Instead, you’re thinking about the string of text messages you exchanged with Miron only an hour before. While you’d waited on Tara to pick you up, you’d time to think. You were needy and you missed Miron’s attention.
YOU: are you going to party the basketball team is doing?
MIRON: wasnt planning on it, noor n ryan want to shoot pool downtown
YOU: oh ok
MIRON: why
YOU: tara is taking me, figured i’d say hi if you were gonna be there
MIRON: ur going out?
YOU: yeah, tara is taking me
Your phone has been painfully quiet since then and you wonder if you’ve made her mad. Things have always been good between the two of you but her lack of response makes you nervous.
Tara swears and you tune in. She’s complaining about her ex now, graciously reminded by the break-up ballad cued on her Spotify. “They’re a liar, Hamali. Two months we’ve been doing this online thing. Two months. And to find out they’ve had a girlfriend this whole time?”
You take a long hit of your pen and shrug, resting your head. The smoke tickles when you blow it out your nose. “That’s the problem with meeting people online. It’s easy to hide shit and get away with it. You never know if you’re getting the entirety of a person, y’know? It’s equally as easy to ghost them and avoid accountability, so people will say and do whatever they want.”
“Like she knew about me but I didn’t know about her, which is so crazy to me. They’d told her we were just friends, or some bullshit.“
You nod your head in agreement, the buzz making you feel bold. “So, fuck that guy and their girlfriend. You know what you should do? Date Noor. Noor is literally begging for a chance to take you out. You already know the sex is good, y’all fucked last summer, and Noor is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You’re not gonna run the risk of being lied to and ghosted. Besides, you know where Noor lives so even if she did do something horrible—but she won’t because it’s Noor—you can just show up at her house and confront her there.”
You stare at Tara pointedly and she replies with some new detail she’s just recalled. You do the girl thing, hashing out the details of this massive relationship failure, passing the time as you drive.
You’ve already been traveling for twenty minutes so it only takes a few more for a beautiful country house to appear in the distance. Light pours from its windows, a colorful beacon in the dark. People mill around outside and their breath cloud in front of them in white puffs.
Tara parks in a grass field amidst an organized grid of other vehicles. There are a fair amount of people out tonight, you note. Your boots crunch over frost when you step out of the car and you shiver. The skinny jeans you fished from your closet and black corset top don’t do much to shield you from the wind.
Your best friend grabs your hand and you weave through the cars, making your way with the others toward the house. A neat stone path lined with solar lamps and small shrubs leads you to the front porch. The house is even prettier up close, all beautiful wood paneling and detailed carpentry, so pretty that you’re almost green with envy. Stylish but comfortable furniture and twinkling lights make the porch inviting; the front door feels like a portal to a world far away.
When you make the plunge inside, where you are so much warmer, you think that you’re not surprised this is the kind of party Tara brings you to. She’s never been one for the rotten underbelly of a house on fraternity row. But still, you feel entirely out of your depth. The house isn’t extravagant but everything you lay your eyes on flashes a triple-digit price tag at you like a neon sign. You feel poor and small and you would be overwhelmed if it weren’t for your friend.
People say Hi! and Omigod how are you? to Tara and wave and smile at you as you are absorbed deeper into the house. They… do not know who you are and you can’t blame them, really; you’ve been here a semester and a half and this is your second night out. You feel dumb and awkward and your social anxiety is screaming like a hoard of cicadas in summertime.
You need to adhere to your original plan: get shitfaced and ditch the anxiety. Ditch all of it.
In the kitchen, Tara opens the fridge and inspects its contents. Her mini skirt hugs her waist and hips, accentuating the softness estrogen has brought to her figure, and the glitter on her collarbone and shoulders sparkle in the light.
Hard liquor is already on the counter but space has been made inside the refrigerator-sized monstrosity for wine coolers, soda, and bottled water. Tara retrieves a bottle of water and a Coke and you watch, taking a long drag on your pen, as she deftly whips up a Jack and Coke for you. She’s heavy handed with the pour, which you appreciate.
You’re stumbling behind Tara, choking on the whiskey behind your hand, as she pulls you through the house. She’s always been a speed-walker lesbian you can never keep up with.
“What are we looking for?” you ask.
She grins over her shoulder. “You’ll see!” she sings in reply.
Tara brings you to a room on the second floor, large and spacious with a green-felt pool table in the center. Beer pong is next to a set of white French balcony doors; an L-shaped couch is tucked in the back corner where a group of people are huddled around a coffee table. As you approach, you see colored baggies, gummy squares, and pre-rolled joints neatly displayed. The cloying scent of marijuana assaults your senses and you could kiss Tara; sobriety has sucked and you think a blunt with your drink would fix you permanently.
The dealer is an obvious dyke with cropped brown hair and a T-shirt that says, Who ate all the pussy? Tara knows your tastes so you stand back, sipping your drink quietly, while she buys you two pre-rolled joints. You watch with amusement as Tara immediately snags the dealer’s attention and begins to flirt with him, playing with the ends of her dark ass-long hair. Tara walks away with a free edible square several minutes later.
No one gives a fuck if you light up down here so you find a spot near beer pong and watch as the women’s basketball team begin a bracket amongst themselves and divvy into teams.
Once settled, you light your joint and sip your drink and enjoy the haze that settles over you. Intoxication is sweet bliss. You find yourself laughing more than expected. Several of the players are good friends with Tara and she tells you about the intricacies of their social circle—who’s been seeing who, who’s been fighting and who’s been fucking. It’s all harmless gossip and you enjoy it immensely. You’ll admit, it’s a nice change of pace from all of the books and homework assignments.
It’s not long before you’ve both finished your drinks and you’ve smoked about half of your first pre-roll. Tara leaves you on your stool with instructions not to wander far. This makes you giggle. Where could you possibly go?
You feel her presence before you see her. Miron has a way with people that you find eerie and the room shifts to center its axis around her.
She comes up behind you and a hand brushes over the small of your back. You swallow. You know if you turn your head, she’ll be right there, waiting, watching; she’s close enough now that you can smell the musk of her cologne.
When you turn, Miron is grinning down at you. Her hair is a mess and a single curl lays over her forehead.
“Hi,” she says. You want to melt into a puddle where you sit. You hate how little it takes to grab your attention. Heat rises to your already hot cheeks.
“You’re here.”
“I am,” she says and arches an eyebrow. The scrutiny makes you squirm. “What, like I’d miss a chance to see you out in public? Did the restaurant burn down?”
You blink. Stammer. “I—No, Greg gave me the night off and Tara’s been wanting me to come out for ages.”
Miron’s grin is feral and canine. She’s teasing you and the realization frustrates you. You shut your mouth, flustered. She can talk, if she’s feeling so damn cheeky.
“Don’t pout. I just wanted to come make myself known.
“Well. Hello. And good-bye,” you say, even though you don’t really want her to leave. You cross your arms, feeling defensive and panicked. You didn’t expect to see her, you have nothing prepared. You want her to like you. But it’s Miron.
The hand at the small of your back disappears and you immediately wish she would put it back. Being around Miron is always like this. You want her close but the proximity makes you nervous. All you know how to do is bite.
Miron searches your face, brow furrowing for just a moment. You almost mistake it for confusion. The expression is gone as quickly as it comes, though, and Miron smiles at you once more.
“Well, alright then. Have a good time, sweetheart. Don’t get into any trouble.”
She brushes your chin with her thumb and forefinger, flashes a cheeky smile, and disappears back into the house. The world continues spinning like normal. Blood pulses in your ears and chest to the thumping baseline powering through the media room.
Miron is gone but now that you know they’re here, they’re all you can think about. They had lied about playing pool with Noor, then. Why? You bite your cheek, worry your bottom lip between your teeth—a terrible habit, really.
You cross your arms and slink to a corner where you find a bar stool to perch upon. You’d been lurking on the corners of this room, in the doorway, but your new vantage lets you keep an eye on the comings and goings. The basketball game featured on the wall-size flatscreen and the game of beer pong is now largely ignored so that you can watch for Tara—just Tara, no one else.
A few moments later, the dark-haired beauty returns to you with refills in hand. She hands you your cup and you swirl the contents around. Another Jack and Coke with an emphasis on the soda this time. You don’t blame her for slowing your light weight self down; you just grab the second half of your joint and light up.
“What’s up your ass?”
You grumble into your cup. The captain of the basketball team roars with victory, startling you. It seems she and her partner have won. Their prize is an edible, donated by the dealer. How kind of him.
Tara pouts. “Come on. Don’t play hard to get.”
“Miron’s here. Noor and Ryan probably are too.”
Tara immediately perks up. “Really? Where?”
You roll your eyes and snicker. “You’re so fucking easy. My god.”
“You have absolutely no room to talk. Where did Miron go? She didn’t leave, did she?”
“No, I told her to… I don’t know. She wandered off.”
“Then let’s go look for them, yeah? Come on, Hamali. They are our friends.”
Ryan, maybe. But you and Miron are fucking consistently and the sexual tension between Noor and Tara has been suffocating the last few months.
You’re happy to follow Tara around again. Your head is light and fuzzy and it’s nice not having to think about where you are walking or how you’ll get there. The music in the house beats and pulses around you, overwhelming your senses. Too much of this and you’ll be crying in a dark bathroom, overstimulated and overwhelmed. You’re safe for now though and content to trail behind Tara.
You find two of them in one of the many rooms downstairs. Ryan is fiddling with a deck of playing cards, dividing them up and shuffling them around, while Noor takes buy-ins.
“Are you playing poker?”
Noor is a bit on the shorter side and broad through the shoulders, with beautiful brown skin and hazel eyes that Tara likes to fawn over. She looks up at you and flashes a devilish smile. “Strip poker. Wanna buy in?”
You roll your eyes, barely suppressing a giggle. “God, no. But Tara might.”
Tara splutters. Her tan cheeks turn pink and you watch as a magnetic pull lures the both of them in. Noor says something charming, a bit cheeky, and you quickly tune them out. Not really a conversation meant for you.
Despite your better judgment, you find yourself looking for the dark head of curls that should tower over the rest of your group. It’s rare to see Noor and Ryan without Miron, especially with something as enticing as strip poker on the line.
“Where’s Miron?” you ask, leaning forward on your toes.
“Got distracted.” Ryan’s response is tight-lipped and your gut immediately drops. That can only mean one thing.
A deeply masochistic part of you wants to know who she is. You’ve always known this to be what it is: friends with benefits, casual, no-strings-attached. That doesn’t stop the deep sting when you’re reminded that Miron Sikkari is not yours.
Is she prettier than you? Does she give Miron something you don’t? No, it’s none of those things. You know that. Miron just doesn’t date.
No one stops you when you quietly slip away. It’s not hard for you to slip through the hallways unseen. All you have to do is search for her magnetic attraction in the house. People gravitate towards her. They can’t help it.
When you find Miron, it’s on the back patio outside. She’s sprawled out in a chair, her legs spread wide. In her free hand, she holds a smoldering blunt. None of that matters though. Because the girl sitting in her lap is Julia.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
Your brain goes white.
Both of her perfectly gorgeous legs are swung over Miron’s thighs, the slit in her skirt exposing an expanse of smooth tan skin. Only one of her perfectly manicured hands rests at the nape of Miron’s neck, playing with the short curls just above her fade; the other rests on Miron’s chest, fingers adorned with gold and stone rings.
Miron clearly enjoys the attention. You watch as she leans into Julia’s hand, as her eyes flutter when Julia tugs on the ends of her curls.
It’s hard to explain why you feel so strongly about the other woman. This isn’t who you are. You’re not the type to go blind with jealousy, but when you look at Julia and her perfect long red hair and her beautiful tits and amazing ass… well, maybe it’s hard not to compare. Next to her, you feel like a silly girl playing pretend.
You freeze in the frame of the sliding doors. There’s a blunt rotation going on and Miron has just passed to the right. You debate being bold, putting yourself right in the middle, and seeing if maybe you can overthrow Julia’s position in her lap. You entertain a fantasy where you coolly integrate yourself and Miron is awed
Ultimately, the idea of losing outweighs the rewards of winning and you begin to slink back into the house. All you want to do is return to Tara and drink more. You have a whole joint left, too, stored in your pocket for safe keeping.
You don’t retreat successfully. Miron, who has been lulled into a state of relaxation by Julia’s ministrations, spots you hiding behind the patio door. Her eyes, hooded with her high, widen with recognition as you backpedal and she opens and closes her mouth. You’re not quite sure what you’d call the look on her face but it makes you ache.
In the kitchen, Ryan, Noor, Tara and a few faces you don’t recognize have started a game. Noor is dealer and Ryan is already missing their shirt.
You’re not going to cry. That’s not what that feeling behind your eyes is. You just… feel a little sick. God, you could just turn fucking green. Envy is not your color.
Ryan notices you return first. Their smile is wide and inviting and they wave you over.
You try to smile back but you have a terrible poker face, game or otherwise. If they notice how forced it is, they don't say anything.
A few moments after you’ve settled down and lit up your second joint, Miron’s frame fills the doorway.
“Hey,” Miron says, a small salute at the forehead. Her grin is lopsided and she’s just so terribly handsome. You avoid looking at her, instead becoming increasingly occupied by the stickers on your phone case.
Ryan makes a noise. “What? Back so soon?” Their voice holds an edge.
There’s a pause and then you hear Miron say, “And pass up the chance to see you naked? Never.”
“You want me to deal you in?” Noor asks.
“Actually—‘Mali, could I borrow you for a second?”
Your eyes immediately snap up to Miron. Those fucking eyes of hers are burning into you, red and hooded from the smoking. Your stomach flips.
Wordlessly, you stub your joint out, place it in your case, and separate from Ryan’s side. You wrap your arms around your waist and follow Miron down the hall. Music bounces off the walls around you, echoing in your head. The walls are narrow enough that when she stops, leans her back against the wall, and slides down just a little, her legs eat up the entire distance.
You stand opposite to her, fidgety and restless in close quarters. Her head cocks to the side.
“What’s up?” you ask lamely.
Miron takes a second to study your face. “You just came outside and looked like you had something to say. What was it?”
Your throat feels dry. It’s so damn hard to think around Miron and you hate it. Her intensity always manages to throw you off course completely. You’re not used to being so noticed.
“I just came to find you because we were starting strip poker; turned around because you were busy.”
Miron makes a face that scrunches up her nose. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. And you were clearly enjoying yourself, so far be it from me to interrupt you.”
“Hamali, what are—“ Their eyes narrow infinitesimally, cat eyes in the dark. “Is this about Julia? Is she why you’re upset with me?”
“I’m not upset, Miron.”
“Bullshit. You’ve said fuck all to me tonight. I want to know why you came out there—the real reason. And I want to know why you turned around.”
You stand there gaping like a fish. Truthfully, you don’t have an answer for either question. Why did you go looking for Miron? You don’t know. So instead you say:
“I just don’t understand why Julia of all people. No one likes her, except you.”
For once, Miron actually looks speechless. They blink a few times before saying, “What?”
Music and blood pulse in your ears. You’re pissed and you’ve been drinking. You ought to give Miron a piece of your mind. You do.
“Julia is just using you, you know that, right? She—well, she treats you like a piece of meat and it’s disgusting frankly. I hate her.” You feel petulant but you keep going. Miron doesn’t date but this isn’t about that; this isn’t about the fact that you desperately want her all to yourself. “She’s twenty-one but she acts like she’s thirteen, like she’s a goddamn child. You’re not a toy, Miron. Why, in the ever loving fuck, do you let her use you like one?”
“She was just sitting in my lap—“
“I haven’t forgotten what she said to you last month. You were so pissed too because she’s always resented the fact that you’re stone. What was it? ‘I could never date you but you’re too perfect of a lay to pass over.’ And now here she is in your lap, and I fucking hate her.”
Miron starts and stops a few times, stumbling over her words in a way that you’d never seen her do. Finally, they get out, “What does it matter, anyway?”
“What does it matter? You’re the one who fucking asked me! She’s a bitch! She’s a cunt!” You’re seething now, leaning in towards Miron as you make your point. You lift your chin indignantly. “I came out there because I wanted to see you. I didn’t know what to say when I first saw you. I didn’t expect to see you and I didn’t have time to think or get my thoughts straight, so I went looking for you later. And it’s Julia, who you’ve done nothing but complain about for weeks now, sitting in your lap. It’s Julia, playing with your hair, shotgunning smoke into your mouth.”
“What am I supposed to do, Hamali, follow you around like a lost puppy? I went outside to smoke and she was there. It’s not like I sought her out! Besides, what’s it to you if she uses me? Why do you care?” She takes a step toward you, inviting herself into your personal space like she always does. A wave of her cologne washes over you, something crisp and earthy. She towers over you and despite your anger, you can’t ignore the way your gut tightens. You kinda want to kiss her.
“Because it’s wrong and shitty of her.”
“Sure, but I’m a big kid. I know what I’m getting into with Julia. I don’t think that’s the entire truth, ‘Mali.”
“I—“
“Be honest with me: are you jealous?”
Another baby step. They’re standing close enough that if you took a deep breath your chest would brush them. She leans down, lips close to the shell of your ear and you fight a shiver.
“You don’t wish that was you sitting in my lap?”
“N-no, that’s not it, I told you, I—“
“Oh, I know what you said.” You feel her fingertips brush the dip of your waist before they curl around it entirely. You try your hardest to ignore just how far her fingers can reach around you. “I don’t think that’s the truth, though. I think the truth is that you are pent up and stressed and are using Julia as an excuse to rile me up. Come on, princess.” You feel her fingers slip under the hem of your shirt just barely. “You should know by now that you don’t have to play games with me.”
Your hand comes up to grip their forearm, your nails leaving crescent moon marks on their skin. Already you feel yourself growing wet. Your head swims; you sway just a bit on your feet. Fuck, she’s so right. You are pent up and stressed and her bare fingers on your bare skin feels so nice.
“Princess,” she says, teeth in your throat. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong? C’mon. Why don’t we go somewhere more private to talk about this?”
You know that wherever she takes you “talking” is not what she has planned. “Where?” you ask, voice a little more breathless than you’d like.
“Jeep,” they mumble into your neck.
You nod. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. You know you can be so much better than Julia. You know Miron can make the itch under your skin go away. Fuck, you’re just burning, wanting, waiting.
Miron takes your hand and leads you back down the hall. As you pass the poker game going on in the spare room, you see that Tara is missing her shirt and Ryan is out their socks and pants; a few others have joined and they’re all in various states of undress.
The journey back through the house is nothing like the one inside. Your world is full of bright lights and colors and everything blurs together as you blindly follow Miron outside. Her hand is so warm in yours as you slam the front door behind you and step into the cold.
The porch is empty and no one is around, so Miron takes the time to press you against the door and kiss you. It’s so sudden. One moment, you’re shivering as the cold turns your cheeks pink and your breath comes out in a fog. Next, Miron has you flush against them, lips moving against yours in a persistent, persuasive manner. Her leg finds its way between yours and with your difference in height, it’s easy to apply pressure to your core.
You keen into her mouth at the slightest touch and she groans. Her tongue in your mouth next, searching and exploring. She hasn’t tasted you in weeks and she kisses you like she’s trying to make up for lost time.
Her hand grips your jaw, thumb pressed in the delicate space between your ear and mandible. She tastes like smoke and mint, the faintest hint of alcohol.
Miron pulls away and leaves you wanting more. They take your hand, pulling you back through the pretty stone path and to the cars parked in the neighboring field.
You pass Tara’s sedan and then you see Miron’s Jeep on the other side of a massive truck.
You’ve heard of the Jeep. Of course you’ve heard of Miron’s fucking Jeep. You’re eighty-percent sure she keeps a collection of underwear in her center console, keepsakes from every fuck she’s ever had in there.
Miron’s hands are at your hips again, insistent as they hold you tight against them.
“You’re so fucking hot, you know that? God, you have no idea how how fucking bored I’ve been.”
You sigh as Miron hones in on your neck. Her teeth and tongue assault you, turning you into a useless mess in her arms. She keeps talking to you, flips the button on your jeans.
“Feel me, princess. Go on. Feel how hard you make me.”
Miron takes your hand and guides it to her groin. Beneath the fabric of her Dickies, you feel something hard and long. Your breath catches in your throat and your pussy—goddamnit, you just throb.
“Miron,” you groan.
They laugh in your ear. Make no mistake—they’re mocking you. You know it. They’ve always given you shit for how easy it is to get you to take strap. It’s one of your preferred methods of fucking, honestly. You love how fucking wild it makes this stone butch of yours, how feral Miron grows when it’s just you, her dick, and filthy pillow talk.
Miron pulls the latch on the back door to the Jeep. It swings open, an invitation you’re eager to accept. “Get inside.”
You do and without being told you begin to remove your shoes and socks. The back seats are laid down a quilt thrown down hastily; a bit sourly, you realize Miron was prepared to get laid no matter who it was.
Miron climbs in behind you. The awkward manner in which she does so is almost enough to make you laugh.
She pins you with a single look. Pulling the door shut behind her, she says, “Take your pants off, princess. I won’t be able to do much with this,” they punctuate this by grabbing their cock, “if you’re still wrapped up so pretty.”
You shimmy out of the jeans, slipping your underwear off, and it’s a blur from there. All of this movement has you feeling almost sloppily drunk. The two of you somehow readjust, Miron settling below you as you crawl on top. The cool smear of lube on your thigh briefly grounds you and then you're being stretched and filled. You cry out and Miron hushes you, rubbing circles on your hips.
It hurts. The pain isn’t unbearable but truthfully the two of you hadn’t spent much time on foreplay before Miron put their cock in you. You can’t fault her; the lube helps. The stretch and pain you feel is a nice reminder as you whine and whimper in Miron’s lap.
You don’t fuck right away. Miron, you realize, has been staring at you rather intensely while you have your eyes screwed shut. Her hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and her fingers make her way to your head of curls.
She brushes a piece back, tucking it behind your ear. “You still have that joint on you, princess?”
You nod, trying and failing to squeeze your thighs together.
“Take it out. Light it. You deserve to relax.”
Getting crossed in the back of Miron’s car seems like an excellent idea, so you do as your told.
You smoke, and Miron quietly demands that you feed her smoke. Her lips meet yours more than a few times as you breathe each hit into her lungs. You feel spacey and sluggish and you realize absently that Miron’s hips have begun rocking up into you.
“Miron,” you whisper.
“Hmm?” she hums, smiling at you in her haze.
Mustering your strength you push her down, her back coming to rest on some pillows and blankets she’s used to prop herself up.
“I think I’m done waiting.”
Your hands rest on her abdomen, an anchor to steady yourself as you breathe in and out and adjust to her cock. You grit your teeth, hang your head. It hurts still,, but you have a point to prove and pain isn't something you’ve ever shied from.
Miron swears. “Fuck.”
Nails dig into your hips and a slight twitch in her hips nearly makes you keen.
“Can I—?” she starts and you cut her off by shifting one hand to her shoulder and rolling your hips.
This time, you don’t stop yourself from making the sounds you want to. Miron watches you, pupils blown, as you hold her down and experiment.
You’ve never had sex in a car before and god is it uncomfortable but you just don’t fucking care. You feel full and her hands are on you; the ache starting in your knees is nothing.
Miron rocks into you and that makes you gasp and sigh. Your grip on her shoulder loosens and she takes full advantage of that. Before you can push her down and play at being in charge, she puts her mouth on you, wrapping her lips around a nipple.
A hand slips from your hip to your ass, kneading the flesh and fat and muscle there. It guides the rock of your hips as you ride her, filled to the hilt. When teeth pull on the metal of your piercing, you whine.
Your hand slips under her collar and you drag your nails across her shoulder, leaving welts with the points of your acrylics. You lace your fingers through her hair, wrap and wind through it. In the far reaches of your peripheral vision, you can see her watching you through her eyelashes, a patient study.
When you pull, the groan she lets out against you makes your hips jerk. It resonates deep in her throat, an unbidden, unwilling sound of pleasure. You love doing that to her.
You think of Julia, again, and how she was playing with the curls at Miron’s neck when you found them. Jealousy spreads through you like a wildfire. You think of how she fawned over Miron, touching her bicep, swinging her thighs over her lap. It makes you possessive and you dig your nails into Miron’s scalp.
Teeth bite down on the swell of your breast and you instinctively pull harder. You feel yourself clench and the fresh smear of cum on your thighs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re in deep shit.
“Did you just bite me?” you ask.
She grins, arrogant and pleased with herself. “You liked it.”
You did, but you also like to argue. “Did not.”
She slips a hand between your bodies and her thumb finds your clit. Before you can stop her, an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder turns into a bite.
You cry out and shudder in her arms.
Your mind is hazy but you feel Miron laugh against you. Absently, you note that the car windows have fogged over with your breath.
Lips tug on your earlobe. “You got wetter, sweetheart.”
You did. You know you did. Fuck, you feel drunk and so very high and you are quickly losing the ability to talk back. The jealousy you choked on is hard to remember when she calls you pet names. With no dignity, you moan into her shoulder. The sharp burst pain is almost enough to send you over the edge and into your first orgasm—but not quite.
You’re still rocking against her, suffering through the pleasure you feel. You know you’re pitiful like this. Silly and stupid with need, you ride her in an attempt to stop whatever it is Miron pulls out of you. You’ve brought yourself to the precipice but you can’t push yourself over.
Miron keeps a hand on your hip and pays sweet, special attention to your chest while you try your best to cum. The thumb on your clit provides enough stimulation to make you whimper—but it’s still not enough.
If anyone walks by, they’ll find you falling to pieces in her lap. Your tank is missing and you know that when you look in the morning, you’ll see bites and hickeys all over your tits. She’s terrible like that.
You whine, exhausted and stretched full, and she hushes you.
She lays a kiss on your collarbone. “Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?”
Your gut sparks and you dig into her shoulders, drawing a deep groan from her. You nod against her shoulder, a shuddering and panting mess. Close. So fucking close. You’re woozy with the need.
“You’ve worked so hard this week. It’s only fair you get to cum. Do you agree, princess?”
A hand cups the back of your head, a gentle soothing weight that presses you into her chest. You nod and melt into her, your cheek pressed against warm skin. Your whole body buzzes, focused in your clit as Miron rolls her cock into you. Embarrassment is the last thing on your mind, so you don’t care when you feel tears on your cheeks.
“There you are. That’s it. Good girl. Just like that.”
You shudder and your hips slow. You’re so tired as you cry into her shoulder. You can’t. You just fucking can’t. You need her, need her to put you on your back and fuck you hard.
The uninhibited part of your mind again thinks about what someone would see if they found you then. Maybe it’s Julia who finds you. They would see Miron and you having sloppy drunk sex in the back of the Jeep, her strap buried in you. You’re naked at this point, covered in hickies and bent over her lap.
“You want me to take care of you, sweetheart? Make you feel good, like I always do?”
Miron adjusts herself under you and you whimper as her cock moves inside you. The veining on the underside of the cock runs perfectly against your entrance as she shifts and you endure the exquisite torture.
She’s going to take care of you. She promised. Finally, you’ll get to cum.
With her grip on your hips, she lowers her center of balance, slipping further into the black leather seats to give herself some leverage. And then she thrusts up into you.
Your head drops to her shoulder and you gasp against her skin, sinking your own teeth into the skin of her neck. Groaning, Miron settles into a ruthless pace.
Her hips rise up against you, her cock pounding into your core. It hurts, bruising something deep in you that you nearly flinch away from, but the relief and pleasure you feel outweigh the discomfort.
Tears leak from your eyes as you tip your head back. “Fuck, fuck, Miron, I—”
You feel yourself breaking apart in their lap, a shattering that begins in your gut and spreads through your entire being. You thrash and scream against their body as you cum, experiencing the release in its entire violent glory.
Every muscle in your body contracts. You feel the gush of cum between your legs. You arch so hard against them that you feel the muscles in your feet begin to cramp.
And when the violence of your orgasm passes, you are left with the exhausting sweet relief in your body. The tension you’ve been holding all week is gone and you slump against Miron’s body.
She soothes you as you steady your breath, but you can hear the humor.
It doesn’t take much for you to laugh against her. Honestly, you’re not even sure what you find so funny. But she joins you and the two of you laugh together until you’re just two people again.
It’s quiet for some time, you wrapped around her torso, her cock still buried in you.
Her cock—that lick of heat races through you again. The things you wanna do to their butch cock.
“I wanna try something,” you blurt. You chomp the words out in an effort to ensure they’re said.
Your gut twists with nerves. You’d read about it being done to butches—femmes, too—but what if she doesn’t like it? The possibility of a No looms over you.
Miron grins at you and raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
You bite your lip. “Could I… Would you mind… Can I suck you off? Or like pretend I’m—“
A muscle in her jaw tweaks and she swallows. Hard. “You wanna suck me off, Karakuş?” Miron’s voice strikes you as a bit breathy but the tilt of her smile assures you of her confidence.
You immediately turn bright red. “I-I mean, yeah. Yes.” You can’t look her in the eyes.
“Alright.” Miron looks around the inside of the car for a moment. “Think you’ve got enough space?”
You blink and quickly nod your head a few times. What are you supposed to say? No?
You lift yourself off Miron’s cock and there’s some adjusting for her to find a comfortable position slumped against a few pillows and the back of the front seats. You tug at the bottom of her shirt. She always does this, strips you naked before you realize she’s still fully clothed.
Miron obliges quickly. They pull their black tee over their head and toss it into the passenger seat. Now you can see all of her tattoos, namely your favorite, the dragon curling under her sternum and over her belly.
You start by kissing her neck, swirling your tongue over the places you know she likes. You press her into the floor, bracing yourself over her as you begin your descent down.
“Fuck,” she says, more of a breath than a word. Her hips twitch in anticipation and you smile to yourself.
You kiss her stomach, following the curved tail of her dragon tattoo, journeying further south until you reach her hip bone. There are a few more smaller, hidden tattoos here—an armadillo on the outside of her hip, a zippo lighter on the V of her abdomen. You spend a few moments here, kissing the feather soft-skin of her hip; you suck a hickey just next to the zippo lighter and smile when they swear and jerks under you. Their cock is inches away from your mouth and you know they’re trying so hard to be patient.
It works out for her that you’re desperate to put her in your mouth. You turn your face in, brushing the strap with your nose. It smells strongly of you, pleasant and musky, if not a bit salty. Your tongue darts out, tasting the silicone, and you nuzzle into her cock, kissing the side and base.
Miron’s eyes are on you. You feel them burning into your face. This makes you want to squirm under her gaze but you double down on the task at hand.
You don’t wait long before licking up the side of her cock. She groans, says something foul that you don’t really hear, and slides her fingers through your hair. Her hands are rough on your scalp and they knot through your curls. Her thumb brushes the curve of your jaw. You hum.
When you reach the top, you look up at her. Of course she’s staring back. You keep eye contact with her as you curve your tongue around the head of her strap. In the dim lighting of Miron’s back seat, the shine of plastic and your own cum make her cock gleam oil-slick.
You keep eye-contact with her when you wrap your mouth around her cock and take her into your throat.
Miron’s eyes are blown wide. Her nostrils flare and the hand in your hair grips you even tighter. Your eyes flutter shut. You groan around her. Saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and you close your eyes, relaxing your throat as she gently bucks into your mouth.
“Fuck,” she says. “Look at you, princess. Fuck.” Her head tips back against the seat behind her. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
You soak in the praise as you suck Miron Sikkari’s cock. Her hand remains on the back of your neck, guiding you up and down. Though you can’t see it yourself, you hope she appreciates her view: You, face down, ass up, the naked curve of your spine and waist on display just for her.
One of your hands digs into her thigh to support yourself. Her muscles flex and bulge under you, and you hear the stream of curses leaving her mouth.
You catch a—Fuck, fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you’re such a slut—and not too long after—God, look at you taking all of me like that, you didn’t even need my help, that’s perfect, you’re perfect.
You suck Miron off until she tells you to stop. You’re content down here, throat relaxed around her hard cock as you sleepily give her head. The position you’ve folded yourself into is rather comfortable and Miron’s hand on your head is heavenly. Compared to the urgency of your fucking, the blowjob you give Miron takes it’s time. You look at her occasionally and find her face buried in her hands or staring right back at you. One of her thumbs brushes under your eye, wiping away the tear tracks and smeared mascara.
Hands on your shoulders push you away before they pull you back up. A thumb makes its way into your mouth and you wrap your lips around it. Of course you do. A voice shushes you, pulls you to their chest, adjusts you just right.
Miron has placed the two of you flat in the back seat, both of you laid on your sides. You note that her legs seem a bit cramped, but she doesn’t seem to notice. If she does, she doesn’t care. A hand is busy stroking your stomach and lips are on your neck and that voice keeps telling you—
You’re so pretty. Think you can take my cock for me one more time, princess? Fuck, Hamali, you feel so good. That’s right sweetheart. Keep me warm. Let me use you.
The head of her cock presses into you, splitting you open again, and you groan. She slips into you with ease, filling you perfectly.
Fingers circle your clit and you jolt, an animal brought back to life. You suck in a breath and moan. Your head tips against her and they hold you even tighter.
Her arms pin you against her chest, not that you have the strength or will to fight back. A hand rests at your throat, a casual reminder of her physical dominance over you. The movements they make around your most sensitive point send shockwaves through you. You keen, whimper, whine. Your hips stutter to a rhythm of their own design.
Shhhh. Shhh. That’s it. You’re so sensitive right now. God, a fucking mess. This is. Fuck, ‘Mali. You have no fucking idea—
Teeth nip at your earlobe before they sink into the flesh of your neck. If there’s anyone nearby, they absolutely hear your moan. It’s loud and carnal and your eyes roll into your skull.
Your orgasm does not creep upon you in a gentle construction of pleasure and pain that transcends you. When Miron bites you, your orgasm rears its head inside of you and punches a hole straight through your gut.
You hear a distant scream (your own) and feel breath on your neck. Your pleasure burns through you, a wildfire that won’t be stopped.
Your body shakes and shakes and shakes. Miron wonders at you as you cum under her touch.
Any thought you’ve been holding onto evaporates. Right now, you’re just another girl Miron Sikkari has fucked in the backseat of her Jeep and you bask in its glory. You may be starting to see the appeal.
In the true moments after, Miron holds you with a softer, more gentle grip. Her arms are still a vice around you, but her fingers stroke and smooth over whatever they can reach. She pulls the cock you’ve been keeping warm for her out and the absence makes you shiver. Sweat sticks to both of your bodies and the mixed sound of your breathing fills the car.
You’ve never wanted anyone to be Mine more.
“As much as I’d like to continue laying here,” her lips brush over the shell of your ear, “my legs are going a bit numb, love. Here, why don’t we sit up.”
You barely contain your whining. In another world, one where your claim to Miron is real, you might have thrown a tantrum; you ask to be taken home, swaddled, and held all night. You’d pout for a joint and her attention and you’d receive both for your efforts. She calls you something else, something intimate like baby or—
That claim is not yours. You have to remember that. So you shift into a seated position, wincing when blood rushes back to the cramped parts of your body. Your cunt is sore and will be for a few days.
Miron is quiet while you collect your clothes. You hear her removing her strap and the distinct sound of a zipper when she places it back in her backpack. Hickies have begun to bloom across your collarbone, larger bursts of purple forming where she bit you. Your top does nothing to hide them and your skinny jeans are a bitch to wiggle over your hips. You decide your boots are the worst part when you smack your elbow trying to cram your feet into the chunky platforms.
When you’re in a finer state of dress, Miron wordlessly opens the back of the Jeep and climbs out. She holds out an arm, letting you use her for stability. The world outside is cold, significantly less warm and humid than the vehicle. You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a little wobbly on your legs, and shiver as sweat cools on your skin.
Your muscles are tired and you still feel more than a little drunk. Now that the moment and its intensity has passed, you aren’t sure what to say.
Maybe you should stick your hand out for a good shake and say, “Thanks for the fuck. Yeah, no, I know we’re not dating. I just hate when you flirt with girls you’ve had sex with more than once. No, I don’t wanna be just a hook-up but I also don’t wanna be nothing. Yeah, great, see you next Thursday.”
You don’t think that would go over well. Any claim you might have to Miron’s time and attention would disappear. You’re too selfish for that. Sex with Miron is too good to let go for something as inconsequential as feelings.
Miron has her hands in her pockets. Her eyes look wholly black in this lighting. “I should get you back to Tara,” she says. “She’ll be wondering where you are by now.”
You start to laugh but are surprised by just how dry your throat is. “Maybe. I don’t know. I would be surprised if Tara managed to keep herself sober while I was gone. She’s probably set her sights on Noor.”
“Where does that leave you?”
“I imagine they have to stop sucking each other off at some point. It’s a party… I’m sure I can keep myself occupied until she’s ready to go.”
Miron huffs. “You don’t sound so confident there.” You’re not. Parties aren’t your scene but your options are slim. “What if I just took you home?”
Your eyes snap back to her. “What?” You’re a little surprised.
Miron looks a little bashful and scratches at the back of her neck. “I mean, to be honest, I don’t really want to go back and you don’t look like you do either. We could just… get back in the Jeep. You can text Tara. I can take you home. To your dorm. Call it a night, yeah?”
You just look at her for a moment. The midnight sky is bright and washes Miron in a million shades of blue. They look so boyish in this moment, hands tucked in their pockets, earnest as they wait for an answer. Miron’s eyes are so dark, so bottomless. It would be so easy to let them swallow you whole.
This is why you can’t hate her, or any of the girls she shamelessly seduces, you think. When she looks at you like that, how can you say no?
“Alright,” you say.
As if you could have given any other answer.
#the rise and fall of a lesbian situationship#hamali karakus#miron sikkari#ao3#lesbian#femme#butch#pillow princess#stone butch#d/s dynamic#butch4femme#femme4butch#weed intox#praise k!nk#degradation k1nk#wlw nsft#lesbian nsft#butch bait#femme bait#dyke bait#wlw smut#lesbian smut#femme smut#butch smut#butch nsft#dyke nsft#femme nsft#lesbian nsft writing#femme nsft writing#butch nsft writing
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ap class tips
for those in ap classes who are struggling. also for those who aren't really. whatever.
just as an intro to my qualifications:
i go to a stem high school (will be graduating next sem!) where all the classes are already advanced as is (our ap classes are also taught differently!) i've taken a total of 10 ap classes during my time, and while that isn't as much as others, i'd say i have a pretty good spread of ap classes i took!
general ap class tips
remember that the ultimate goal for you taking this course is to take the exam and get a 4/5 (reach for that 5!). yes, the grade is important, but that score at the end after that exam might save anywhere from $600-$1200+ in college. so focus your energy on that exam once the exams are encroaching!
make friends in your ap classes. trauma bonding is real (/j) so making friends that will help you study or might save you when you accidentally forgot is key.
and while they all say "study a bit every night!" that's hard to do. the rule of thumb here for every class will be in the categorized sections, so don't worry (i gotchu!!)
ap math (calc ab/bc, stat, physics, chem, etc.)
i personally didn't take physics or chem bc i didn't want to, but i did take bc and got a 5 (yes, i'm so proud)!
rule of thumb for studying at home: do your homework everyday and actually take the time to understand what the hell you're doing. understand what the process is behind solving the problem. be able to pull out the variables. practice, practice, practice. also, this is one of those subjects where it's actually worth it to study it at home everyday.
ANOTHER RULE: practice tests. these math exams are about stamina and speed. if you can solve a problem, great! but now here comes 20 more screaming your name. but, if you can get the timing down before your exam, that's even better. so go waste your saturday afternoon at that mock exam if you need to. another saturday will come in time anyway. ask your teacher for mock exams. get that practice workbook. whatever it takes. get the timing in your hand.
just as a quote from my teacher, "life is about choices, and we are all busy people." don't waste your time doing something that'll waste your time. even if you can't remember it, that's okay. just keep moving and score more points somewhere else. and also, do the easy route. only memorize the easy route.
math is about patterns. patterns rule math. extract that pattern out of that problem, memorize it, and you'll be just fine.
FRQS WILL HURT YOUR BRAIN AND THAT'S OKAY! collegeboard has a very specific way it wants you to answer these questions. the best way to learn the format is to do so many frqs your hands hurt. because in any exam that involves math, you genuinely need to do better on the frqs. they'll land you more points. yes, the mcq might get you that 5, but the frqs become the basic 3 or 4 that you need. your teacher will hopefully teach you the format, but if they don't, the collegeboard ap website has all the past frqs they've ever made.
YOU WILL BE OKAY. I PROMISE. make sure that if you cry, you understand your disappointment then move on to a larger action plan.
ap histories/humanities (art history, u.s history, euro, world, etc.)
i've taken all the histories that my school offers (apush, euro, apwh, apah, etc.)
rule of thumb: don't study at home unless there's a test coming up or you're bad at putting stuff in order.
GET YOUR WRITING SKILLS DOWN PAT. this is the thing that'll get you the most points. that mcq section is a killer, but doing 3-6 (looking at you apah exam) right after might just kill you. so please, get your stamina up. just write. just keep writing.
timeline shit for history. because when it comes down to it, knowing the sequence of events and knowing the events themselves are more important than dates or whatever.
if you're worried about coherency in your writing, jot down a small pre-writing list.
memorize every single rubric. luckily, the dbq/leq rubric is the same across apush, apwh, and euro. you'll get away with just memorizing the two. the apah rubric is a little different, and the ap lit rubric is a little different. just memorize them as best you can.
when writing, cater to your reader. make things easy to spot and easy to grade. they'll give you a higher score if they can clearly see where things are.
just practice mcqs. all the stimulus will have something you can pull out of it (unless it's like apah where you're meant to memorize the works). but every question will have an answer that's in the passage. practice finding that answer. (this one is still really hard)
all these tests are tests of stamina. and sometimes, they're on the same goddamn day because collegeboard hates love us. just keep going. grab a snack. rest your eyes, go.
essays are the bane of everyone’s existence in ap courses because you’re on this strict rubric and have this mythical complexity/sophistication point that you need to give your hopes and dreams of achieving. BUT. but. you’ll be okay. especially for exams like the ap lit/apah exam, you get to come in knowing at least a bit of the exam (for ap lit, a good part of the frq weight. for apah, 90% of the test). TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT!! know a novel inside and out. know the works inside and out. you’ll be okay. stretch your hands, breathe, write.
ap sciences (bio, physics, chem, psych, econ)
i've personally taken bio and both econs, but these are all concept based, so the same general tips apply.
rule of thumb: if you don't understand it in class, you need to study it at home asap. seriously. because you sure as hell won’t be able to put it together during class the next day. whats good though is that there’s so many resources online (esp videos!!) for all the ap sciences that it’s actually crazy.
read your textbook. science is great with a textbook in your hand. you don't even need to read the whole thing. just skim through it to add information to your class notes. most times that works.
because the questions are concept based, the mcq/frqs are a little hard to get used to. SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS: don’t ignore your responsibilities and learn what these questions look like.
flashcards. USE FLASHCARDS. so much of science is not only understanding concepts but applying them. to apply them, you need to know them by heart. and to know them by heart means flashcards to drill yourself.
and speaking of applying your knowledge, you need to take things slowly. approach questions with this framework: 1) read the problem + understand what concept it’s asking about. 2) pull out that information from your sexy brain. 3) solve the problem based on what you can remember. to truly understand, include a lot of examples in your notes. AND MAKE SURE YOU UNDERSTAND WHY AND HOW THEY WORK. the why and the how are more important than the what.
misc tips 🌷
burnout is inevitable if you don’t manage your time correctly. there’s people online that can explain how to manage your energy more than me so please go watch them instead lmfao
try your best to stay on your schedule. the more you push your tasks to this arbitrary tomorrow, the more you absolutely won’t do them.
honey, you need to bring a snack and a water bottle to those exams, you get like a 10 minute break that isn’t enough for the mental taxation (without representation) that happens on those exams. they’re brutal.
the classes themselves are not as bad you think. i promise. most of the time, you’ll actually have fun. and it’s really cool to be learning at a college level. so keep at it! the moment you hate something, the moment you begin to stop trying as hard and your grades start slipping. keep finding the next thing to delude yourself into enjoying (/hj).
#ap exams#ap classes#ap euro#ap bio#ap world history#apush me off a cliff#ap us history#ap art history#ap art history my love#i’m serious i loved apah sm#i didn’t take ap physics that’s a problem for later#study tips#ap literature#ap gov
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h\Hey Taylor! I always see you post about university and such, and I was just wondering what all you do? I know you're studying biology, but you talk about some other things too. I was also wondering if you had any tips? I'm also studying biology but I'm a few years behind you. All the best!
Okay so this semester I'm taking orgo, ecology, advanced micro (which is just 6 hours of lab and no lecture), and cognitive neuroscience, as well as doing independent research with the worms I was working with over the summer <3 I'm also the TA for one of the intro biology classes at my school, and I'm a tutor, so I tutor all of the intro bio, intro chem, calc 1 and a little 2, pretty much all of the psych classes I've taken, stats, and a few of the lit classes I've taken. That's about 9 hours a week, and it's a service through the uni so they just book an appointment and tell me which class they need :) I'm also the main tutor for both of our intro bio classes (intro molecular and organismal), so I do a twice-weekly remedial "lecture" for an hour. i am. so fucking busy lol OH AND ALSO the chair of the psych dept just asked me to be on their hiring committee because they're trying to get a neuropsych person in, and he was talking to my research supervisor abt how she stole me from the psych dept, and wanted my input on the new hire so they don't keep loosing every single person with an interest in neuro to the bio dept since my school doesn't have a real neuro major.
as for tips...vocab is your best friend. even if you don't know what's going on, look at the prefixes, suffixes, etc because they'll tell you!!! learn them!! for example, anything with -ase at the end is most likely an enzyme....and enzymes are proteins that help catalyze biochemical reactions. so if you see the word "lactase" and you had no clue what that was, you know off the bat it's probably an enzyme (-ase), and if you can see that 'lact' is the root of lactose....well, you can logic your way to the fact that lactase helps you break down lactose! know your vocab I literally cannot stress it enough. also ESPECIALLY for chem when you get passed gen chem. the words are there to tell you what the thing is....they're not random. they actually mean something.
literally go to lecture. even when you don't want to. get up and go. and don't be on your phone. don't try to take notes on your laptop, either. do it, bare minimum, with an iPad, but if you still get distracted by notifications then use a notebook. who cares if you're the only one...you'll also be the only one who can draw diagrams, models, chemical structures, etc. plus writing literally activates parts of your brain involved with memory retention while typing does not. don't use the laptop!!!
oh i also mean this in the nicest way possible, but don't do bio if you're not super into it. because you'll hate it and all of the effort you have to put in is going to make it feel like hell. and if you find yourself hating labs....i hate to break it to you but you probably shouldn't do bio because most of the jobs on the market involve bench work in some way, shape, or form, and if you can't sit through a 3 or 4 hour teaching lab you're probably going to want to die when you have to get a real job after you graduate. in my schedule right now I have 16 hours of lab a week, and I love every single minute of it.
ask for help! i can say this as a TA but genuinely everyone wants to see you do well. go bug your TAs and your profs and yeah you might feel like you're being annoying but who cares! you learn by asking questions so if you have them, ask them. i think all of my profs are so fucking sick of seeing my face, and yet I'm still in the dept way too often bugging them while they're in between classes and meetings lol
along the same lines...literally everything is about connections. go talk to your profs. even if it's not with questions. "oh, hey, I thought this part of the lecture was cool, could you maybe tell me some more about it?" things like that. after all if you want to go to grad school of whatever kind, they're the ones that are ultimately going to help you get their. they're how you get research opportunities, rec letters, maybe they even pull some strings to get you in classes that are full/you don't have prereqs for, etc if they like you enough! some of my profs ask me for input on their classes too. like my micro prof, who's my academic advisor. i had him for regular micro last semester, and I saw him while doing research over the summer and he had 3 or 4 ideas for our advanced micro lab class this semester. he asked me what I liked best....guess which project we're doing.
learn how to read papers. it's hard. you're gonna want to scream and cry and rip your hair out. you're not going to understand 90%+ of what they're saying when you start. highlight words you don't know and look them up. ask profs (yes. again. talk their ears off when they have time to listen to you) for tips because it really depends on the field, what you want to get out of the paper (i.e. are you looking for methodology to model, are you doing a follow up to their conclusions, do you need their results as background). I'm reading three papers right now and I understand nothing! it sucks it's hard as an undergrad. I want to yell but. I'm taking notes and trying to break the info down into smaller pieces and. i think it's working :)
okay i'm just rambling but!! hope this helps :)
#disclaimer: i go to a pretty small school and so i have the ability to talk to have really close relationships with every prof i've ever had#taylor answers#ask tag#anon
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Pre Christmas Exam Vibes
Academic, Physics (Classical Mechanics): Basic Lagrangian Overview
NB: none of this should be taken as any type of academic resource, I'm still just in my second year of a 4 year theoretical physics degree. The information in this post might have errors, if there are glaring mistakes I'd appreciate any feedback.
The latex wont display correctly unless you read the post from here
Exams are just around the corner, days are getting shorter, and there's still so much revision left for me to do by the end of this week. The intensity and density of material this term is much greater than last year. Even though one can't truly devise a measurement of intensity, it definitely feels like there has been a geometric increase. So far this semester I have taken classes in 4 subjects from the school of physics and 3 from the school of mathematics.
I have a feeling the majority of my time until the day exams start is going to be spent self learning material I may have missed in lectures throughout the semester. As a STEM student, the only way to truly improve is to do as many practise problems as you can. I know this. I am fully aware of this fact. Nevertheless I find it increasingly difficult to initiate studying.
I'm procrastinating at the moment so this post is just going to be a small info dump of some ACM.
Advanced Classical Mechanics and the Lagrangian
so far this year the most difficult subject I've had to wrap my head around has been Advanced Classical Mechanics. The course this semester has consisted mostly of an introduction to the Lagrangian formulation of classical mechanics, a surprisingly old study but with many innovations in the field having occurred only during the 20th century. Noether's Theory, which connects symmetries in the Lagrangian with conservation laws, is perhaps the most glaring example of the modern developments that took place during the beginning of the last century.
The maths involved in the course is pretty simple/ rudimentary, just some basic linear algebra for harmonic oscillators and some single and multivariable calc ( all stuff covered last term). The most difficult part of ACM so far has just been how different it is to Newtonian mechanics. In some sense the mathematical formalism makes it easier: there is less to remember and the majority boils down to constructing a valid expression for the lagrangian, but it takes more creativity to analyse a question correctly.
It is interesting to note that Lagrangian mechanics is a more fundamental idea/representation of the universe than Newtonian physics, in fact The entirety of Newtonian dynamics can be seen as a specific case of the more general Lagrangian formulation. I say this as the concept of the Lagrangian is not restricted to macroscopic dynamical systems but also extends to relativistic and quantum mechanical interactions.
Lagrangian Mechanics
Lagrangian mechanics, whose basis lies in the principle of least action, is such an incredibly powerful tool. It has honestly become one of my favourite concepts in physics so far due to its simplicity, generality and conceptual beauty. With the Lagrangian and implementation of the Euler Lagrange equation you can derive the equations of motion of a system, combining with noether's theory we can also find conserved quantities of the system. Of course, the most difficult part of the Lagrangian mechanics is finding the Lagrangian associated with a particular system.
what is the Lagrangian anyways?
any physical system has an associated function called the Lagrangian which can be expressed as the difference between the kinetic and potential energy of the system. More formally, the Lagrangian is the function between two points in the co-ordinate space such that the action, defined as $S=\int_{t_1} ^{t_2}f(\vec{q}, \dot{\vec{q}},t)\operatorname{d}t$ is stationary. In other words, the Lagrangian,$L$, is a function of $q,\dot{q},t$ such that the variation of the action is 0. Mathematically, this can be expressed as $$\delta S= \delta \int_{t_1} ^{t_2}L\operatorname{d}t=0$$
It is also found that for a specific system, the Lagrangian is the same as the difference between the kinetic and potential energies of the system. $$ L = T-V $$
In nature, all systems seek take the path of least action from one point of their configuration space to another. The Lagrangian is only a specific case of a variational calculus problem where the quantity to be minimised was the action and the variable of integration is time. The same principle can be used to find a function that minimises any quantity with respect to some boundaries that are kept fixed. Good examples of the more general variational problems/principle (is/ can be used to find) the equation of the brachistochrone, the curve which allows for the fastest descent of a ball acting only under gravity, or the surface of a bubble. In each case the "action" (the quantity to be minimised) is different. For the brachistochrone the action takes the form of time, representing the time of descent from some initial point $(x_i,y_i)$ to some other final point $(x_f,y_f)$. In the case of a bubble or film of soap around a wire mesh, the quantity to be minimised is the potential energy.
Euler Lagrange Equation and Equations of Motion
Once the Lagrangian is determined for a system with coordinates $\vec{q} = (q_1,q_2,\dots,q_n)$, we can use the Euler Lagrange equation to determine the equations of motion of the system.
the derivation for the Euler lagrange equation is straightforward but lengthy so I will simply state the equation without the derivation. Explicitly, the Euler Lagrange equation for a Lagrangian, $L$ with generalised co-ordinates $q$ is given by
$$\frac{\partial L}{\partial q} = \frac{\operatorname{d}}{\operatorname{d}t} \frac{\partial L}{\partial \dot{q}}$$
where the partial derivative $\frac{\partial L}{\partial \dot{q}}$ is called the conjugate $q$ momentum, $p_q$.
there is of course so much more to cover in Lagrangian mechanics, but this post is already getting quite long. I might make another post later and continue with some more basic concepts. For now, though, I am signing off.
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just submitted my class choices for the second part of autumn term and i’m nervous. what if i picked wrong. what if they have to go down my entire priority list because my grades suck and i don’t get in anywhere so they stick me in advanced calculus where i’m really not in a good place to be (maybe next year but dear lord please not right now)
#she speaks#cth adventure#i might not even have to do advanced calc at all#it depends on what master's i want to do#i'm down to two and one of them requires advanced calc but i have no idea if i'd even enjoy it#it's either 'software engineering' or 'data science & AI' and naturally the data science & AI one requires calc but i don't know if i'd#even enjoy data science because i haven't tried it#so my first choice for next study period is 'introduction to data science & AI' which apparently has a super low fail rate actually#which is always nice#and then i put down physics because we have to do one natural sciences class to graduate and that one seems the least terrible#advanced calc is at the bottom of my list not because i don't enjoy calculus but because it has a 50% fail rate and#i can't handle that right now. i can best a 50% fail rate i've done it before but never when my bad brains have been THIS bad#(and then i stuck 'advanced programming in python' in the middle bc it's particularly inspiring but it sounds nice and isn't too difficult#judging by the grade statistics)#god i'm on my third year can you believe it#also on my third year of lousy mental health. and i still haven't killed myself. go me
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associative property | kth
title ; associative property
description ; every morning, taehyung drives you to school. and every morning, taehyung annoys you - until he doesn’t.
cast ; taehyung x you
word count ; 3.4k
tracklist ; this is how u feel - loote, take a chance with me - niki, trust - thuy ft. rini, crema - youngjae
tags ; popular!taehyung, cranky!y/n, high school!au, fluff, they’re not enemies but y/n does think he’s annoying and taehyung has no qualms with it, i don’t know a single thing about video games please forgive me, idk where this came from honestly, also this is unedited so sorry in advance
for the record, you don’t hate kim taehyung. what you do hate is mornings, and unlucky for him, he is among the first few faces you see almost every single morning. it’s an associative property sort of thing.
“that’s bullshit,” jimin counters, trading your pickle for some of his french fries. “you see me every morning and you like me just fine.”
“do i?” you arch your eyebrows and he narrows his eyes back, earning a small amused twitch to your lips. “he’s just annoying, what do you want me to say?”
jimin glances over to where taehyung is, surrounded by a myriad of friends and admirers alike. taehyung does well in a crowd - grins wide and enjoys the attention and the company. if you look close enough you might see his tail wagging, but you’re uninterested in all of that.
“i just think you should give the guy a chance,” jimin says, corners of his lips curving upwards in a friendly smile when taehyung spots him and waves happily. “he’s actually a really nice guy, you know.”
you bite half a french fry and mull it over for a second.
“no.”
.
.
.
taehyung is older than most of the kids in your class, since his birthday is at the very, very, very tail end of december, meaning he missed the cut-off to be with the kids born in his year. which means taehyung got his driver’s license before anyone else did, and being that he’s your neighbor and your parents are friends, he therefore becomes your ride to school every morning.
so, every morning, you put up with him at the ass crack of dawn for a full ten to fifteen minutes, while he yammers away in your ear at an exhausting pace, topics rolling off his tongue without a care for the way you sink lower and lower in his passenger seat, mentally begging red lights to turn green.
you’d think a decade of taehyung walking with you to bus stops would train you to tune him out but for some reason you’ve never been able to. you now know an absurd amount about pubg and overwatch, and while you can’t recount any of it directly if asked, you can relay the message of, this one guy’s name is StringBeanz and honestly fuck this guy, first of all who is still using a z-
it was one of few days when you’d actually respond to taehyung, interrupting him halfway. “it’s just a vegetable,” you bemoan. “what even is your username?”
“t-h-underscore-v,” taehyung says simply. you’re at a red stop light. you loll your head towards him and squint.
“v?”
“v,” he reiterates, holding up a peace sign. “victory. i always win, y/n.”
your eyes roll back and you thank every deity you can name that the light turns green.
.
.
.
most days taehyung knows better than to approach you in school. most people do leave you alone - “you have an intimidating aura,” jimin once told you. “it makes people avoid you.”
“good,” you’d retorted back.
you like being left alone. you like being nose deep in a book without anyone else to ask you about mundane things like the calc homework or if you saw the football team play last weekend. you don’t give one fuck about the football team. mostly because you hate their coach, who is a sexist, racist, piece of-
“hiii,” taehyung slides into the seat next to yours. most days taehyung knows better than to approach you. not all days.
you spare him a glance then go back to your book. “hi, tae,” jimin gives him a reprieve, smiling at the boy beside you. “what brings you to us today, mr. popular?”
taehyung grins shyly. he knows he’s popular, he’s just not so good at being told to his face that he’s popular. “my mom made fishcakes,” taehyung says, pulling out a container from his backpack. “the kind you like, y/n. i packed an extra box for you.”
you try not to look. he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re ignoring him, just presses on. “i’m not staying late today, so i’ll drive you home. just give it back to me then, okay?”
he doesn’t wait for an answer, just pulls out a set of disposable chopsticks and leaves it on top of the box, then bids jimin goodbye before hopping away, immediately intercepted by someone from the basketball team.
“he’s gone, you can stop pretending now,” jimin says as he pops open the lid to the box taehyung brought you.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, and jimin snaps the chopsticks apart.
“you haven’t flipped a single page since taehyung showed up.”
you lift your eyes to look at him. he grins smugly.
you suck your teeth and snatch the chopsticks from his hands. “shut up.”
he whines. “at least share??”
you flick your eyes up to him.
“no.”
.
.
.
jimin thinks you’re being over-dramatic when you say driving to school with taehyung in the mornings is borderline unbearably painful, and maybe most of the time you are - it’s not your fault you’re not a morning person - but you know for a fact taehyung is doing this on purpose.
his car trudges along at a snail’s speed, as taehyung belts out but iiiii can’t heeeelp falling in loooooove with yoooouu in as deep a voice as he can muster. maybe if you had even a semblance of caffeine in you, you might be impressed by exactly how low a register he can hit, but it is 6:42am and if he doesn’t step on the goddamn pedal you might just take over his car and do it yourself.
there’s no other cars on the road right now, which is the only reason taehyung can get away with this. you’re one more syllable away from snapping, head twisting to glare at your designated driver when his eyes catch yours, and he raises his voice back to a comfortable pitch. “take my hand, take my whole life, too,” his eyes are soft, voice smooth and warm. your heart does the unthinkable and stutters in your chest as you freeze, lips parted and eyes widening a fraction. he smiles.
then he hits the gas, throwing his head back and bellowing as loud as he can get, “FOR I CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH-”
“taehyung, for the love of god if you don’t shut the fuck up-”
.
.
.
you’ve known taehyung since you were little. he was the kind of kid who pulled on your pigtails and ran away screaming, but then also came back ten minutes later with an outstretched hand, offering a cookie for your patience. and since at the time you had the attention span of, well, a five year old child, you accepted, settling yourself down on the sidewalk curb next to him to munch on your cookie.
over a decade later and you’d like to think you have a little more reserve than to be bribed by a cookie, but judging from the way jimin is desperately tamping down on his laughter and the fact that you do, in fact, have a cookie - a brown butter chocolate chip cookie, practically fresh out the oven - in your mouth, maybe you haven’t changed as much as you’d like to think.
taehyung looks rather pleased with himself, fluffy brown hair falling into his eyes as he beams, watching you as you eat. you might not notice beyond your treat, but jimin sees the way taehyung stares at you with nothing less than overwhelming affection, gaze gentle and bright. the three of you sit at taehyung’s kitchen counter, but jimin can tell taehyung can only see you.
“take some home later,” taehyung is already packing a box for you, stacking almost all the cookies he’s made into it. “i-”
you make a noise to stop him. “won’t your family want some?”
taehyung pauses. “that’s okay,” he resumes. “i can always make more.”
when he smiles at you, you ignore the shift in your chest. he presses down the clamps on the box and slides it over to you. “just give me the box back later, okay?”
.
.
.
taehyung drives you to school every single day. he doesn’t drive you home as often, since he usually stays after school for one club or another, but some days he does. either way it means you see taehyung every single weekday, every single morning.
[9:24pm] taehyung: hey i dnt thnk im going 2 skool tmr
[9:24pm] taehyung: thnk im sick
[9:24pm] taehyung: can u tk the bus pls
[9:27pm] y/n: sure
you don’t know what taehyung has against vowels. you peer at the messages, rereading until it hits you that taehyung is sick, so you won’t be seeing him tomorrow. you don’t think he’s missed a single day of school since the eighth grade when he caught the stomach virus that was going around.
you frown. your mind replays the few glimpses you saw of him earlier today. he was fine in the morning, and seemed okay throughout the day, but he’d driven you home today quietly, only the radio playing to cover the silence. you’d just figured he was upset about something - it was the only time taehyung ever really got quiet - but now if you think hard enough, you can picture the exhaustion on his face when he’d parked in his driveway and murmured goodbye.
you glance at your clock. nine-thirty is a little late to be making noise in the kitchen, but not too late. still an acceptable hour, and your parents are still up. you climb out of bed to wander downstairs, gathering pots and ingredients.
when morning comes, your alarm goes off earlier than usual, and you curse yourself for it. but you force yourself out of bed, running through your morning routine with bleary eyes before heading to your kitchen, heating up what you’d made last night and throwing it all into a thermos before heading to taehyung’s.
his mom opens the door, surprise coloring her expression before she spies the thermos in your hand. “did you come to bring that for taehyung, honey?” she smiles warmly. taehyung looks more like his dad than he does like his mom, but his mom reminds you more of him than his dad does. she’s friendlier, always smiling. the kind of person who is friends with the whole block, the same way taehyung is friends with the whole school.
“i just came to drop it off,” you hold it out to her, but she ushers you inside. it’s still early - much too early for the bus.
“go on upstairs, i know it’s early but i think he’d be happy to see you,” she guides you towards the stairs. “go on, it’s okay.”
which is how you end up outside taehyung’s bedroom door, staring at it with your hands wrapped around your thermos. it’s not that you haven’t been here before - you’ve lived beside taehyung for almost your whole life, it’d be impossible to not have seen his room - but you suddenly feel awkward standing here, at six in the morning. you’re hesitant when you knock on his door, letting it creak open when you hear him tell you to come in.
as you peer in, the only thing you can see in the darkness of his room is his hair, wild and wavy, the rest of him buried under a mass of blankets. you creep inside, setting the thermos down on his bedside table.
“sorry for waking you,” you mumble. “just wanted to drop off some soup-”
taehyung whirls around fast for someone who is sick. he winces a little and you grimace back, feeling sympathetic. he really doesn’t look so good.
“y/n,” he breathes. “you made me soup?” his eyes are wide and innocent and grateful. taehyung’s always been earnest with his feelings, the kind of person who doesn’t really hold grudges. he’s always shrugged it off whenever you ignored him, or acted cold towards him. he just moved along, happy little smile and bounce to his step.
“it’s just soup,” you mutter. “just - you drive me every morning so the least i could do-”
taehyung’s fingers wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you closer to him. “thank you,” he whispers, and even though the only light coming through his room is the hallway light at your back, you can see in the dimness that he really means it. so genuine for something so small.
it makes you shrink back, embarrassed. but you don’t want him to see that, so you try to tug out of his grasp, but surprisingly, he doesn’t let you, tightening his grip ever so slightly. his eyes glance to the clock on his bedside table. “there’s still some time till the bus comes,” he says. “just stay a little. it’s cold outside.”
maybe it’s because you’re still sleepy. or maybe it’s because he’s sick and you don’t want to be the person who says no to a sick person. whatever the case, you stay, let him tug you so you’re sitting on the edge of his bed while he scoots in closer to his wall to give you some space.
you clear your throat a little. “how are you feeling?”
he laughs, the sound a little hoarse. “like shit,” he grins crookedly. “but a lot better ‘cause you’re here.”
you scrunch your nose.
“turns out you do have a heart in there somewhere,” he teases, poking at your side lightly. you scoff.
“all i did was make soup,” you push his hand away but there’s no real force behind it.
“you could’ve just given it to my mom,” he points out.
“she forced me up here.”
taehyung snorts. “like you haven’t said no to her before.”
“it’s - “ you sputter a little. “associative property, or whatever. it’s morning and - and i guess mornings are meant to be with you.” you duck your head to hide your face.
taehyung chuckles. it’s odd. you know taehyung’s handsome. it’s part of the reason he’s so popular. but even when he’s sick, rumpled and pale with bags under his eyes you somehow still agree with the high school populace. kim taehyung is handsome.
his voice breaks you out of your staring. “associative property is a math property, y/n.”
you turn away from him. “you know what i mean.”
“i do.” his voice makes you turn back to him. it’s rough and he looks quite frankly awfully sick and sweaty but all you can really focus on are his eyes, the way his gaze doesn’t leave yours, a knowing smile on his face. your cheeks feel hot when he looks at you like that. “i know you,” he murmurs. “if you really hated me you would just take the bus.”
it’s despicable, how much you like that stupid teasing quirk on his lips. how you kind of want to run your fingers through his hair, push it back and away from his forehead. how maybe it would even be nice to curl up beside him, let yourself be surrounded by his warmth. people have always called you cold. you’re aloof, you hold people at arm’s length. it makes them shy away from you, the way you have sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, but taehyung’s never been scared of you. you try to keep him at a distance and he barges right on through, completely disregarding anything you say in favor of engulfing you with his warmth.
“maybe i just like the free ride,” you argue back to him, just for the sake of it.
his smile widens. “and the cookies.”
you huff out a surprised laugh. “and the cookies.”
his hand comes to curl around your wrist again, palm warm against your skin. his thumb brushes back and forth soothingly, a comforting touch. he blinks slowly, sleepily. “you’ve got a soft spot for me, y/n,” he sounds tired and his words sort of slur together, but he also sounds certain. “in the shape of a brown butter chocolate chip cookie.”
.
.
.
taehyung knows a lot of things about you. more than you think he does. it comes in part due to being your neighbor for over a decade, but also because you’re easier to read than most people think.
you don’t talk much. not with words, anyway. but you do a lot. you do things like sit next to him at recess in the third grade when you realize the big kids think taehyung’s a fun target because he’s a little small for his age. or you slip a pencil onto his desk when he can’t find his in the fifth grade right before the history test. or you hold up the bus in the eighth grade by asking the bus driver a million questions because taehyung is running late.
you don’t really like talking much. but you listen, because every year your family and taehyung’s family spend the holidays together and every year your parents give taehyung a perfectly curated gift that even his parents didn’t know he’d wanted, but you do. you remembered when he had a lego obsession and talked about the different kinds every day on the walk to the bus stop. you remembered when he went through a gundam phase. it was always you. you listened to everything he said, every morning, without fail.
you say you don’t like taehyung, but every year you leave a birthday gift for him with his parents in spite of his birthday being right after the holidays, mumbling, you always get one for me, it’s just polite whenever taehyung brings it up the next time he sees you. you say taehyung’s annoying and too loud but if he asks, you’ll always show up to any of the events his club hosts even when you’d told him you didn’t want to go - claiming jimin forced you to come with. you say a lot of things like that, but even when your eyes are narrowed at him in warning, he sees it. fondness. affection.
you care about him.
taehyung’s always been patient with you. he’s waited quietly for you to realize that the irritation you claim to have against him is actually endearment. that there’s no one else you would let bother you every morning the way taehyung does. he’s waited years, giving you just enough space, until you figure it out yourself.
“i guess you’re all better,” you say as you slide into his passenger seat. taehyung always gets up earlier than you, so he can heat up his car during the winter mornings before you exit your house.
“hm,” taehyung hums, then shifts himself across the console, the sudden movement startling you backwards. a smile grows slowly on his face as he watches the tips of your ears turn pink.
you’ve figured it out.
“i’m missing one thing, i think, before i’m all better,” taehyung leans in a little closer, eyes twinkling in mischief.
“personal space?” you remark back, one eyebrow arched.
his smile widens into a grin. he turns a little, so his cheek is facing you. “kiss it better.”
you sputter, and the scoff you let out comes just a beat too late after. you’ll swear up and down it’s because you were caught off guard, but taehyung knows. he turns back to face you. “you like me,” he beams, relishing in the way the pink has now started to color in your cheeks.
you face scrunches, but words don’t come out. his eyes shine and you’re enraptured by them, breathless when he comes even closer, the tip of his nose almost touching yours.
“you should just drive, kim,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes crinkling in the corners.
“say you like me, y/l/n,” he whispers back, and you stare at him, like you’re gauging how serious he is. his eyes fall to your lips before he can help himself.
you take that split second of distraction to plant one on him, a quick peck that lasts less than a second before you shove him back over to his side of the console, taehyung falling back with an oof and a stunned expression.
“i like the free rides,” you say, settling back into your seat. taehyung grins.
“and the cookies.”
you glance at him from your peripheral. your lips twitch into a smile.
“and the cookies.”
#taehyung x you#taehyung x reader#taehyung x y/n#taehyung x yn#taehyung#fluff#taehyung fluff#fic: apth
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I use math to define my thought processes too!! Everything just makes much more sense that way and it helps me feel more grounded. But I'm only in high school so I know very little about math and tbh I don't think I'm very good at it despite liking it so very much. My favourite topics are quantum physics, maths and cognitive science too! Which is why I really want to go in a field that uses all three (Maybe figure out the quantum basis of consciousness and information processing using AI as a reference who knows). I, for one will never pity you for talking about your abuse, as someone who's also in an abusive family and frequently uses the certainty of math to cope (I'm talking solving calculus or coordinate geo to feel calmer lol I really cant do much more). I always read the articles you post, and I try to understand it as much as I can!! I'd love to see more of your research, although I wont understand anything but I still love these topics so much!
Thank you really much for your thoughts! And you have all my compassion for sharing a similar situation - and I find it so intriguing that mathematics has a therapeutic value for you as well. I find calc helps me improve my attention-span and endurance of a balnced concrete focus - I have also realized how powerful it is in grounding - and getting rid of flashbacks/intrusion loops - in a very non-invasive manner (few weeks ago I made a concept using a model of a damped/vibration to achieve equilibrium in perceptive distortions (depersonalization, derealization) and control of alternating mindfullness - alternating reduction and increase of sensory stuff (sorry wording.exe has stopped working rn) - parallely an alternating focus of certain thinking stuffs - bahh, can't explain it. It's similar to EMDR therapy - could write a short article about that with a quick sketch and concrete example... Sad it took me eight entire years to find a way to cope with such severe meltdown-flashback carousels - tested that concept a lot since then - as it is a really smooth way to ground, even in the most severe situation, it's really really effective - interestingly, an important aspect of it is based on mathematical models of turbulences. As such distressing states can also be interpreted as some sort of turbulences - you need to find the fitting interference that "settles the storm" - interestingly, it's exactly that.
Understanding where the inner response of distress is coming from - has helped me to better adjust - interestingly, in backwards, I could also adjust/advance the mathematical model.
In a way, if you find mathematics to be beautiful - and somehow intuitive, then you are most certainly not bad at what mathematics actually is. In a sense, the education system is severely deficitary. And to be honest, before function graphs/ plots were firstly introduced in 7th grade or such - I did not even know what I did in math lessons - it seemed alienated from anything I intuitively did, boring also. Interestingly, when I first saw the function graph of something as basic as y=mx+n it made all sense in retrospect. It's like, ohh, well I used that since ever! (Was just some sort of "translation issue", so to speak...)
Mathematics, as far as I have grasped, is the most natural and rawest form of cognitive processes/processing - and it might most certainly be the way memories are stored in the brain - as extremely compressed form.
The quanta article on that indian mathematician Balasubramanian, it hints perfectly to the object of string theory - the calabi-yau-manifold - being merely similar to our own brains - dynamical information networks, somehow "perfused fractals" - metaphorical term. That connectivity of memory is the connection one information (difficult to concretize, in my concept of information weaving that information entity might be an imaginary number) has towards other information, which defines the dimensions [I prefer the term dimensionality] to put it plainly: Take the vertice of a cube (3d) as information entity: It is connected to three other vertices (here synonymous to information entity)... After assembling all the other ideas (omitting many in-between concepts now): We gain a net with different densities of information - similar to a spacetime net. But it explains information distribution (which can further be interpreted as a conception of quantum gravity), but also the distribution of your memories: Most dense areas are very active and frequently used memories. More connectivity correlates with more density in many circumstances. (Clustering function)
I should write a well-structured article with some references related to these stated conceptions - and include some pictures and plots. Perhaps then the ideas can be followed through less pseudoscientific-sounding.
I wish you all the best, and look forward to hear from you! (You don't know how much social interactions like these help me sort my brain!) [It's like free therapy plus omg I feel like an euphoric child when I see my theoretical bullshittery causes something positive in other people.]
(You can always message me on my main blog (@eulers-entity), tough sometimes, replying may take a while sometimes.)
#speronyx#peer support#healing power of math sounds like awfully clickbait-worded lol#and this definition only fits as seen with a certain amount of irony
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Ok modern zuko would be an expert at breakdancing and sokka would be the guy who just bi-panicks whenever he does
(whoops, my hand slipped and I accidentally wrote a modern au headcanon turned zukka karate au one-shot)
Okay but consider this instead: Zuko doesn’t know how to dance for shit and has horrible rhythm, but he is a GOD at martial arts. He’s been doing some type of style since he was a kid and is a full black belt by the time he hits high school. Martial arts was always something he excelled at, but it was also something that made him feel more secure. It was something he could work on to help him protect himself from his home life, even if it wasn’t enough most times. He specifically excels in weapons forms (I’m thinking twin sais) and you DO NOT want to spar with him. Because he may be skinny and shorter, but he’s quick and can hit hard at just the right spots.
When he was younger he was obsessed mainly because he felt that belt rankings and trophies from competitions were a way to prove himself to his dad, but when he moved in with Iroh (who encouraged him to keep it up and was so proud of how talented and passionate he was about it), he basically used it in place of talking about his feelings. He didn’t talk about his home life or the shit Ozai did, instead, he put all his energy into his black belt levels, learning new weapons forms, and eventually into teaching new students as a junior instructor.
At school, he’s awkward and asocial and just doesn’t have the energy for people. Zuko has little patience for asshole classmates who ask intrusive questions about his scar or spread rumors about where he got it. He eats lunch in his English classroom and would be a complete shut-in if Iroh didn’t get him to work part-time at the Jasmine Dragon. But in the dojo, he’s focused and is able to direct his energy into improving his forms and teaching younger teens.
One of his newer students transferred from a different dojo after moving from a different state. He’s actually a freshman at Zuko’s high school but it’s not as if Zuko really interacted that much with him. This kid, Aang, is as talented and dedicated as he is, but has a long way to go to learn all the new katas. Zuko’s been dubbed the ‘scary’ trainer at the dojo. He’s the serious one who will yell if someone is goofing off and everyone’s seen that he has no problem using full force in a demonstration (little kids love him and he’s super nice to them, but he teaches the 12-15 age range). Plus there’s that scar, which doesn’t make him the most initially welcoming person. But this new kid Aang just latches onto Zuko immediately. He says hi to Zuko in the halls at school and works on his katas outside of regular practice times. At first Zuko thinks this sickeningly positive kid is annoying as crap, but warms up to him. He likes that Aang cares about martial arts and isn’t nice as a show, he’s just genuinely nice.
And maybe he sees Aang hanging around school with a sophomore girl and her brother who just might be in Zuko’s calc class and English class.
And maybe Zuko thinks this guy is insanely attractive and somehow incredibly funny even though most of his humor consists of the worst puns imaginable.
But obviously, Zuko hasn’t attempted to ever actually talk to this guy. The most that he could classify as ‘talking’ to the cute, funny guy on the robotics club is the one day in English class when he had to respond to someone’s dumbass comment about Macbeth with what ended up being a ten minute spoken essay about obvious motifs and symbolism. To which Mr. Puns and Ponytail was very obviously paying great attention to and even gave Zuko a smile and thumbs up for.
Zuko knows it’s pointless to engage. After all, he’s a senior and he doesn’t have any friends anyway. There’s no point in making any this year. Crushing on this guy from the comfortable position of the other side of the room is totally good enough for him. Totally. This is fine. He’s fine.
Besides, he’s got competitions and if he doesn’t secure the regional championships this year he’s never going to get the chance after he goes to college. And he’s got his kids to train. Aang in particular is gearing up for his first debut into this area’s tournament.
The tournament’s in October and usually, Zuko focuses on his own matches and performances, but Aang really wanted him to watch his set. So on this day, he stands on the sides of Aang’s zone instead of obsessively going through his katas in a corner.He’s not going to be able to watch the whole set because it overlaps with his own weapons portion, but he stands on the side and gives Aang a reassuring look that, ‘don’t worry, you’ll do great, you’re a talented kid,’ when his student looks over to him nervously.
And wouldn’t you know it? Aang brought some friends to come watch. And one of them is Mr. Zuko’s Big Gay Crush.
“Oh, hey Zuko,” are the words that come out of this guy's mouth that give Zuko a near-stroke. And damn if this guy’s eyes aren’t blue and pretty and he usually wears his hair in a ponytail at school, but now he’s wearing it down and Zuko wishes he could take screenshots with his brain because holy moly.
“Hey.” Is the best that Zuko can get out of his dumb mouth. “You’re Sokka.”
“Aang invited us to come watch,” Sokka nudges his head to indicate the ‘us’ includes his younger sister, who Zuko doesn’t know the name of. “How do you guys not get heatstroke during these things? It’s like a million degrees in here.”
“Oh the gi’s pretty cold, I mean, it’s got air and stuff.”
Zuko decided right there that he would be completely fine with being struck by lightning. Of course, that’s what his stupid brain would come up with. Of course, that’d be the thing he’d say in front of one of the smartest guys in his class.
They watch Aang perform his set for the judges. Zuko recognizes that Aang took his advice when he said that he wasn’t putting enough force into his hits. He’s never seen Aang be as, well, aggressive isn’t the right word, but he’s definitely putting more power into his form. Zuko wouldn’t admit it, though, but only part of his attention was for Aang at the moment. The other part was for Sokka, who was smiling bright and pumping his fists when Aang completed a row of kicks.
The small part of Zuko’s brain that wasn’t being taken up by watching Aang or trying to act normal around his crush noticed the clock on the wall indicating that the weapons portion would be starting in five minutes.
“I’ve got to go do a thing so I’ll just, um, go do that now.”
“Are you competing too?” Sokka asked.
To this question Zuko just holds up his sais and raises his eyebrow as if to say ‘it’s a tournament, what do you think?’ Because yeah, he knows Sokka’s super smart, he’s seen him churn out calc answers at the speed of light and noticed his name on the robotics club awards update on the school’s website, but he’d also seen Sokka eat 5 packs of fundip at once on a dare and unironically wear a ‘women want me, fish fear me’ t-shirt for most of junior year. Somehow he had managed to fall for the smartest dumbass on earth.
“Oh yeah, right.” Sokka eyes the sais and then looks right at Zuko’s face, “Aang says you’re really good.”
Zuko decides that thinking about Aang talking to Sokka about him was something he didn’t need distracting him during his set. That was something he could anxious about later.
“Hopefully good enough for those five assholes,” Zuko replies, gesturing to the panel of judges in the weapons section of the gymnasium. To his shock, Sokka laughs. It’s a nice laugh, too. And Zuko really hoped he could blame the blush that was one-hundred-percent creeping up his face on the lack of AC.
“You know, you’re pretty funny man,” Sokka tells him. Zuko has no clue how to take that compliment, but he really does need to go.
“Right,” he grins nervously and shifts his left foot around to bounce away, “well I have to go do my thing.”
“Good luck!”
That’s where Zuko thinks the beginning and end of his interaction with Sokka would be.
The weapons portion thankfully goes by age. And since Zuko’s one of the youngest competitions, he gets to go first for his sai katas. This is what literal years of training have prepared him for. At regionals last year, the second advanced kata got him placed high enough to qualify for states. This is what he’s good at. He tells himself that a thousand times before starting his set.
There’s not a thought in his head as Zuko goes through the form. The sais glide through his fingertips with every jab, block, and hook. The imaginary opponent doesn’t stand a chance. He’s cool and competent and graceful. It’s therapeutic in a sense. There’s enough adrenaline to make Zuko feel like he’s worth something, but more importantly, he knows he’s nailing this. Whatever the judges say about it, he knows that he’s perfected this form after practicing it at least a thousand times over three years.
The judges agree with him. He’s the first competitor of the weapons portion but there isn’t really a doubt in their minds about who’s going to place.
Zuko zones back in to the gym after bowing to the panel. He walks off, feeling lighter and letting a satisfactory smile take over his face.
He expects the hug from Uncle and the proud smile from Sensei Piandao, but what he doesn’t expect is to see Sokka, eyes wide as globes, staring at him from the other side of the mat.
Because what Zuko doesn’t know is that the second he turned his wrists in his first form during his hooks, Sokka’s brain went into Full Bi Panic Mode.
And Zuko thinks the one conversation where he couldn’t talk like a human and wanted to die for most of it would be the only time Sokka would decide to willingly talk to him. Zuko is dead wrong. Sokka, in fact, has decided that this, this is the guy his Disaster Bi Brain has decided to latch onto. Sokka’s brain and all his squishy feelings have apparently decided to attach to this aloof kid with the scar who reserved his voice for eloquent, impassioned speeches about dramas and was apparently an actual god with weapons. Sokka decides that Zuko could roundhouse kick him in the side and he’d thank him. And right now Zuko’s looking at him with a dumbfounded expression, prompting Sokka to remember how to function so he can go over to congratulate Zuko and maybe ask if his dojo provides a free trial.
So yeah, that one conversation ends up decisively not being the end of anything.
#sorry#not sorry#zukka#zuko#sokka#atla#avatar the last airbender#fanfic#I'm gonna edit and add to this#and probably updated something on my ao3 in the first time in a literal month#thanks babe for the inspiration#the babes are asking#hot leaf content
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“f” for effort
word count: 3.6k
genre: fluff
summary: this feud has gone on far too long. the study room is yours and you no longer care what namjoon has to say about it.
You’re running for your life.
At least, that’s really what it looks like. If you weren’t so goddamn fast, bystanders might have stopped to ask if you were safe or needed help. You’re huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf’s elderly grandma as you tear across campus with only one destination in mind. Beads of sweat drip down your forehead and stains are threatening to form in the pits of your shirt but frankly, you couldn’t give a shit. You’ve got a place to be, and fast.
Said place is your heaven. Your paradise. Your land of milk and honey. Or as a moron would call it, the corner library study room.
It’s roomy, it’s quiet, almost no one knew it was there. When you had loads of coursework to catch up on (which was often and just so happened to be the case on this Friday night), you sought refuge in your precious study room. During the day, the lighting was beautiful. The windows were massive, letting all of the sun’s rays beam into the cozy room and make you feel warm, bright, awake. At night, when you became especially frustrated, you could always slide your rolling chair over to said big windows and gaze at the stars or stare off into the night.
No one appreciated that room correctly, not like you did it.
Which is why you had to stop that little fucker, Namjoon, from stealing it from right under your nose.
The two of you were only freshmen, but your ongoing feud over the glorious study room was intense enough to have lasted generations. You both were willing to pull out all the stops if that’s what it took to keep the other from making it to the room. You used the cheapest of tricks, flat out sabotaging the other if you felt it necessary.
You recall one particular time you planted a fake spider (one of his biggest fears, you’d learned) in his backpack before the end of your shared Calc II class, making him let loose a shrill shriek, much to the annoyance of the professor. And while Namjoon was getting lectured on disrupting class and not acting his age, you were waltzing off to the study room, internally flipping him off as you did. The memory makes you chuckle as you heave and sprint.
It wasn’t that Namjoon had done anything particularly wrong to you. You figured in another context, you might have found him much more bearable, maybe even nice. But something about him just rubbed you the wrong way.
For one, he was an applied mathematics major. Who the fuck majors in just math? People who want to flex how much smarter they are than you, that’s who. And what did the applied part even mean? You suspected someone just as unbearable as Namjoon had added the word in so that he (because of course it was a man) and all his other mathematician friends could be pretentious, annoying fucks together.
Secondly, despite being one of the top students in your class, he was a member of a fraternity. How he had time to both outperform everyone else in the STEM program and party it out with the frat brothers every night was beyond you. You’d heard from your senior friend (who also notified you that Namjoon was after your precious study room) that was also part of the brotherhood that Namjoon was on some kind of fraternity-specific scholarship and that was the only reason he joined. That you understood, tuition was no joke. Didn’t make him any less annoying, though.
And third? Third... Well, you couldn’t think of a third point right now but you’re certain there is one, you know it. You probably couldn’t remember because you were running out of oxygen and dying under the beating sun.
You’re almost crying tears of joy when you enter the library, head whipping around to search for a particular tall blonde. Luckily, he’s nowhere in sight.
Your feet scream as they carry you to your safe haven but you can’t even be bothered until-
“Going somewhere?” He strides next to you, his effortless speed-walking easily overtaking your sloppy attempt at a run. Your books are threatening to slip from your arms and you’re fairly certain you lost the sunglasses on top of your head long ago when you came barreling down the bio building stairs.
“Fuck you, Kim,” you spit harshly. “I came in here first so I get the room.” Your crudeness only makes him laugh maniacally. You curse the little dimples that crease into his cheeks, taking them as an insult to your misery.
“As far as I can see-” He takes advantage of your height difference and takes a massive step in front of you. “-I’m going to get there before you.” As if to tease you further, he spins to face you as he easily surpasses you, approaching the study room and its sign-up sheet with increasing speed.
If you want to win this round- and you really, really do, not only to get your work done but to rub it in his smug face- you’ll need to play dirty.
Moments later, Namjoon is picking up the pen, smirking at you as he moves to haphazardly scribble his name into the time slot. But you’re already formulating a plan. Your textbooks were pretty damn heavy, you bet it’d definitely throw him off if you managed to drop them on his toes. Actually, it definitely would, since the idiot was wearing sandals in late October. As you’re taking aim, however, Namjoon’s face falls.
“The fuck is a board game club?” You freeze, mere steps away from dropping your books on his foot.
“What?” When he doesn’t explain, you nudge him aside and peer at the sign-up sheet. Lo and behold, there it is.
From eight p.m. to midnight, the room is booked. By a... board game club. And it’s seven forty-five now, which means you’re shit out of luck.
“Well, looks like neither of us-”
“This is bullshit.” Namjoon chuckles at your disgusted expression.
“It’s just a study room, Y/N. I’m sure there’s another free one.”
“Well, I don’t want just any study room, Kim. I want my study room.” He scoffs at your arrogance and (quite unfortunately) follows you as you spin on your heel and take off in the other direction.
“Well, what are you gonna do about it? Tell off the game club?”
“I’m going to lodge a complaint and get my study room back.”
“Mhmm.” He trails you incessantly as you march up to the nearest help desk and drop your books in front of the poor employee about to suffer from your wrath.
“Can I help you?” the sheepish girl asks. She couldn’t be much older than you. You almost felt bad for what you were about to do.
“Yes, can you please explain why a-” You raise your fingers for air quotes. “-‘board game club’ has booked a private study room, taking priority over student study time?” The girl is taken aback at your abruptness, clearly not used to being confronted in such a manner. But you weren’t here to waste time by avoiding hurt feelings.
“I-” She hesitates, looking to the blonde beside you for help, of which he gives none. “I’m not sure what to tell you. The study rooms are first come, first serve.”
“For students,” you emphasize, pressing your palms into the desk and leaning forward. “Not unofficial club gatherings.” Something changes in the girl’s face and she turns away from you and faces her computer, typing something across the keyboard. In just a moment, her entire demeanor has flipped. It seems she’s not interested in entertaining your attitude anymore.
“Well, looks like the ‘Board Game Club’ is an official, university-sponsored club. Which means they’re just as much entitled to study room time as you are. Actually, more-so, since you didn’t book your room in advance.” She spins her office chair backs towards you. “Sorry.” She shrugs, flashing you an all-too-fake smile.
“Ugh, fine.” You pile your books back into your arms and roll your eyes, leaving the library altogether.
And your trail follows you.
“What, you’re just gonna leave? There were other study rooms open!” You scoff, annoyed at his ignorance.
“Well the other study rooms that are open at this time either smell like ass or have no air conditioning. So that’s a no-go.” Namjoon laughs quietly, agreeing with your sentiment. He’s been stuck in his fair share of poor study rooms before and knows it can ruin the experience.
“So.... what are you going to do now?”
You find yourself wondering why he’s still here, talking to you when he should be organizing his own study plan for the night. Further yet, you wonder why you’re entertaining his stupid questions at all.
“I dunno. Camp out at the campus Starbucks?”
“What? But they close at ten!” You shoot an exasperated look in his direction.
“And what’s it to you?” You pick up the pace in an effort to shake off your stalker, but much to your annoyance he jumps in front of you, thrusting out his hands before you can take a step further. You nearly collide with his chest.
“Would you just wait a sec?” Your eyes glide up to meet his as you tap your foot, barely acknowledging you’re listening. “Why don’t you just come back to my place with me?” Your eyes narrow.
“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but-” His eyes widen and he begins frantically shaking his head. You almost smirk. It’s fun watching him squirm.
“No! That’s not what I meant!” He sighs, wringing his hands. “Most of the fraternity is at this other party so the house will be empty tonight. And quiet. I know that’s why you like the study rooms and it’s the least I can do for you.”
You’re still suspicious. What’s in it for him? He certainly wasn’t just being nice to be nice. There was something else involved.
“If you knew the house would be empty tonight then why did you try to take the study room?” Namjoon shrugs, grinning mischievously.
“You’re just too fun to tease.”
That remark has you scoffing and brushing past him, not even dignifying him with a response.
“Wait! Just slow down, would you?” A heavy hand settles on your shoulder and Namjoon is beside you again. You’re about to scream with frustration.
“What, Namjoon? What could you possibly tell me that will convince me to come study with you?”
He grins sheepishly.
“I’ll buy you pizza?”
Okay, yeah, you’re a tad ashamed you let your morals slide in exchange for greasy pizza that will wreck your stomach in the morning. But you’re hungry, okay? And the dining hall was already closed and your wallet was empty and it just happened.
And now you were plopped on Namjoon’s bed typing away furiously at your laptop. He’d made a few efforts at light conversation, but he quickly gave up trying to push that boulder when you barely grunted in response to his questions.
His room was surprisingly nice and organized. The bedsheets were barely wrinkled and the room smelled pleasant despite it being apart of a literal frat house. Though his desk was a mess, littered with math theory books and philosophy papers and historical fiction novels. The books appeared well-loved and cared for, not like they were simply written as required on a syllabus.
He appeared pretty organized, too. The oak-colored round glasses he’d donned after arriving made him look older, more scholarly. And definitely more pretentious.
You were glad the two of you weren’t doing this at your dorm. Your room was an actual nightmare. Your life might be organized and planned down to the minute, but your bedroom was an entirely different story.
“So...” Namjoon chews on the end of his pen as he reworks old calculus problems. “Psychology major?”
Really, trying at the small talk again? Good luck with that.
You’re about to completely ignore him when it occurs to you that if you don’t talk about your major he will most certainly talk about his. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard him rant and preach about math and its many uses in modern society. So before you end up stuck in that situation, you entertain his question. If it could even be called that.
“Mhmm.” You bite the bottom of your lip as you contemplate the next line of your essay. You don’t notice Namjoon staring. “I plan to graduate a year early and go straight to med school. Probably open a family practice one day.” Namjoon leans back into his bed frame, nodding in something close to awe.
“Wow, you really got it that planned out?”
“Yup,” you reply, popping the ‘p.’ “Since I was fifteen. I only majored in psychology because I think it’s interesting and I’ll look well-rounded when I start applying to med school. I’ll definitely just be a family doctor.”
“Well, you are a great people person...” You finally crack the next line of your paper and type it away, completely missing the joke and subtle jab.
Ding dong.
“That the pizza?” It’s the first thing you’ve said to him unprompted since you got here.
“Think so. I’ll be back.” He heaves himself up from the bed and trots out of the room, right as your phone buzzes. You only spare the screen a passing glance, but upon seeing the notification is a text from your roommate, you immediately open it.
9:18 pm. Yeji: where are you? ive looked for you everywhere >:( 9:22 pm. Yeji: Y/N? pls respond or ill be worried 9:23 pm. Y/N: I thought you were using the room for yourself tonight. Why are you at the library? 9:23 pm. Yeji: suho cancelled :( i came to find you at the library but you aren’t here ? 9:24 pm. Y/N: The study rooms were all taken. Me and Namjoon are studying at his place. 9:24 pm. Yeji: wait, really?!?! 9:24 pm. Yeji: oh my god, FINALLY 9:25 pm. Y/N: ??? 9:27 pm. Y/N: Yeji?? 9:28 pm. Yeji: im just relieved you two are finally owning up to the obvious sexual tension in this stupid feud and banging it out ;)
You choke. Is that what people thought about you? The idea made you want to gag.
9:29 pm. Y/N: What ?? 9:29 pm. Y/N: NO 9:29 pm. Y/N: That is most definitely NOT what is happening. 9:29 pm. Y/N: That’s disgusting. 9:30 pm. Yeji: aww booooooo 9:30 pm. Yeji: and to think, i was getting my hopes up for you 9:30 pm. Yeji: but seriously tho 9:31 pm. Yeji: whatever dance you two are playing isn’t gonna last long 9:31 pm. Yeji: its obvious you two like each other
With that, you shut the phone off completely and set it face down, suddenly feeling very, very hot.
Yeji was an idiot. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
Right?
This argument, this feud, this competition, it was fueled by anger and annoyance and, as much as you hate to say it, pettiness. You couldn’t stand Kim. And he didn’t particularly like you either. There was nothing else going on here.
Your arguments weren’t flirting. They were arguments. Simple as that.
But then again, you were sitting in his room. Studying together. Letting him buy you dinner.
Well, fuck.
“Pizza delivery!” You scream in fright as he enters the room, making him nearly drop the box full of your precious dinner.
“Oh my god, fuck, are you okay?” You quickly fan at your cheeks to combat the furnace burning underneath them.
“Yep! I’m fine! Just don’t scare me like that, for god’s sake.”
When you meet his eyes, Namjoon looks genuinely apologetic.
Your heart flutters. This little shit.
“Well, uh, here’s your pizza.” He slides the box next to your laptop and settles on the opposite side of the bed, returning to his work.
“You’re not gonna eat?”
“Nah, I ate earlier. And your stomach is growling. I can hear it from over here.” Your eyes bulge.
Had he cared like this all along? Had you just been too blind to notice it? You were freaking out, your heart rate climaxing and your hands quickly becoming lightly coated in sweat.
The weight of the past few months hits you like a freight train.
It’s much too overwhelming.
You’re suddenly aware of your close proximity. The smell of the room, of him, is overpowering and suffocating. The air is thick and you think you might choke. When did that dimpled grin become so attractive? Just before it immediately pissed you off but now...
You eye his blonde locks, imagining what it’d be like to run your fingers through them before you can stop yourself. The glasses you’d found pretentious somehow make him cute, maybe even endearing. Did you always feel like this?
“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or like you might throw up. Please don’t puke on my floor, I’m begging.”
“Fine!” you squeak, whipping your face back to the laptop screen, unwilling to let your eyes move even an inch in his direction.
Even still, it’s like you can feel his body heat from across the bed, calling you in, taunting you for being the biggest moron you knew.
You gotta get out of here.
You finish your essay in record time, just as the clock strikes eleven. You’ve already instructed Yeji to pick you up at eleven-fifteen, and she’s always early. Now all you had to do was ignore the way your heart was beating in your throat and slip away to forget this ever happened.
After a few days used to succumb to logic, you’d realize this was all a mistake. A misunderstanding. An unnecessary emotional reaction.
“Well-” You stand, gathering your books in your arms. “I’m off. Thanks for buying me dinner and letting me intrude.” He looks up from his work to you, eyes bleary and exhausted. You hate the way you enjoy how he gives you his full attention and concern.
“It’s really no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”
Goddamn, Namjoon. Stop being such a gentleman, would you?
“No. It’s fine. My roommate is picking me up.”
“Oh, okay,” he replies, appearing slightly disappointed. No, he wasn’t disappointed. You’re just crazy and emotionally unstable at the moment.
You bid him an awkward wave and slowly back out of the room when he calls out for you.
“Y/N!” You freeze in the hallway as he approaches, noticing how his hair has fallen out of its styled position and hangs loosely rumpled in his face.
“Yes?” He probably was gonna ask for you to pay for the pizza since he didn’t eat it. Yeah, that seems like a Namjoon thing to do.
He pauses and grins awkwardly, making your eyes fly to those dimples. He wrings his hands.
“I- uh-” He breathes out sharply through his nose. “I had a nice time.” You nod, allowing no change in your blank expression.
“I appreciated the quiet. Thanks.” He sighs, looking as tired as you feel.
“Look, I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve been trying to tell you I’m interested in you for a few months now.” Your heart stops and you’re unable to offer a response. “I may have got a bit carried away teasing but, well…’
“What do I need to do to secure another study date with you?”
You’re shocked. Flattered, even. But more than anything, you feel your pride inflating in your chest. You quickly forget that just moments before, you were the one drooling over him and instead bask in the fact that he’s been pining for you this whole time. You feel emboldened.
You give him a half-hearted shrug. Namjoon’s face falls.
“If you want a second date with me, you’ll have to do better than trashy pizza and textbooks.” A smile spreads across the boy’s face as he lets out a laugh that he’s desperately trying to contain.
You love seeing him flustered. You’re a bit more comfortable admitting that now.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course. I’ll work on that.”
You give him a curt nod as the two of you walk towards the front door.
“Find me in the corner study room when you come up with something.” You give him a glance over your shoulder as you step out into the night.
“Yes ma’am,” he shouts back, playfully saluting you. You’re already missing his annoying presence as he closes the door.
When you collapse into the passenger seat of Yeji’s car, you aren’t listening to her chatter at all. Not that you normally would, but this time there’s not even a chance you don’t tune everything out.
You know, you think you could make room for Namjoon in your life plan. He was a little shit, sure. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t too. And something tells you that you won’t be getting rid of him so easily anymore.
#bts#bts scenario#bts fanfic#namjoon#namjoon fanfic#namjoon scenario#namjoon fluff#not quite enemies to lovers but somewhere in that realm#more like unknowingly flirtatious idiots to lovers i'd say#namjoon as an asshole#OC as a bigger asshole#but they're assholes in love#ya feel?
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Hmmmm okok
First of all, yes, I was the same anon of the 3 asks ending with a <3, I like to drop some love, idk anyway
I have no idea how to make assumptions and if it happens to go too far, so I'm sorry in advance if I say something bad, most of it will be based on the general vibes, I dont know you but I belive what I say, les go
You look good with short hair
Even though you were talking about not knowing youself, you know your limitations and usually understands your body reactions to stuff, like life idk yk
You have at least 3 very close friends
Your favourite trope is friends to "yo, that's weird, I wont talk to you for a whole month" to lovers
You had/have an wattpad, dont lie to me, I feel the wattpad
Idk about this one but light brown hair, idk don't ask me questions
You like geometry but hate calculus
You are a theater kid, i dont even mean a part of the crew, you just like theater
Fluffy cows
You like strawberry ice cream
Fix your posture, it's bad to sit wrong
Also, drink some water
I sure hope it all goes trough, your hair looks great btw
You deff have one of those basic allergies, like milk or penuts
You like Sonic better than Mario (tbh, this one was tough)
You really give off strawberry vibes, if you are allergic to it I'll be very --- yk?
You are doing great, alright? School and work are hard, but I'm proud of you
It doesnt let me go any further, so yeah, thats it ig, idk what I should have done......... mhm yup
No proof read, we die like no sleep saturday
Hope it helps or just gets your heart warm, idk, hope you're comfy <3 <3 <3
FHRJSIWJS WAIT WAIT WAIT SOME OF THESE ARE ACTUALLY ACCURATE hold on okay hold on. Thank you so much what the hell?? this was so fun. It made me smile so wide so I guess your,, intent?? I guess it was fulfilled. Idk. Brain no work aight. I hope your day was good non wherever you are in the world <3
1. I’ve been wanting to just chop off all my hair SO badly but i’m waiting for grad just in case it looks bad, thanks for the confidence boost!
2. I like to think this is true. Mostly about knowing boundaries. I’m a bit terrible at enforcing them sometimes but its mostly okay
3. ! Yes :D
4. Not my favorite trope but shit that might be my life anon, ngl.
5. THIS ONE MADE ME SCREAM. I’ve had wattpad for about 6 and a half years give or take (i’ve not been v active on it for like the last half year tho) and i met a good chunk of my closest internet friends on there
6. Dyed Reddish dark brown! I like to think that I’d look rlly nice with like,, brown hair but a bunch of different colors/tones of brown idk how to describe it
7. I don’t mind any kind of math. In calc and hating it rn tho so you might get that vibe
8. I do like theatre!
9. yes
10. I do!
11. me having first read this sitting on my sink in my bathroom (don’t ask)
12. FHDSFD
13. Thank you so much!!
14. I’m allergic to dogs yes and might be somewhat lactose intolerant
15. Mmm no preference really? I think i did play Sonic games and never played Mario so
16. i love strawberries!! one of my favorite fruits
17. shfudshfdskj *starts sobbing*
#mm.asks#<3.anon#that's ur tag now :D#this was INSANE fhdushf#mm.lore#not mcyt#mm.after dark#long post
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(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Matchup ♥
Heyo!! Hope you are all doing well! and I HOPE YOURE TAKING GOOD CARE OF YOURSELVES ♡︎
Heyooo! I would like to request matchups for Inuyasha, Fairytail, and Fire Force, please!♡´・ᴗ・`♡
I am a heterosexual female!
I’m a Leo, and a combination of ENFP/ENTP (if that helps with characterization), but I’m becoming more ambivert as the days go by. But I still act like a crackhead (making up new words, making random sound effects out of boredom and roasting people playfully, having airhead moments, for examples) and a lot of people irl do get put off at how “obnoxious” I can get, but I do know when to “flip the switch” and become serious/quiet.
I have really low standards for humor idk I laugh at my own jokes it’s honestly astounding, but cursed memes/images are somethin else💀 Dark jokes are always open in my ally👀
Ironically, I canNOT stand horror, I will legit be so paranoid or freaked out and start overthinking and just cry and DIE—
I’m very open, almost TOO open, but ask me literally anything and I’ll usually tell everyone my honest opinions/thoughts, but I know how to deliver words tactfully and articulately. Debating, (public) speaking, writing, and understanding concepts are my strong suits; likewise I suck ass at math (I have no idea how tf I passed my Calc ap exams, I just— 😭)
Speaking of writing, I write poems whenever I feel like it, I have a whole collection HAH. My love of expressing comes from my tendency to play the devil’s advocate in interpreting and arguing for almost all perspectives in topics. So you can probably guess how I don’t get offended really easily and welcome both playful and serious banter (despite the crackhead persona, I’m very observant of people and their values expressed and how they tick, so I know when to back off especially when they get uncomfortable with my aggressive debating/personality). Need advice? I can use what I’ve gathered from different people and help anyone in their particular situations.
I know I can be overwhelming to alot of people at first impressions and I CAN get very passionate when talking about many things that might scare the hell out of people, but if they tell me to tone it down, I’ll gladly do so; again, I’ll honestly notice if they’re not comfy with it/are overwhelmed based on body language and even from the way they text…. super intuition or something?
And speaking of expression, I love fashion and makeup! I love being able to express myself through use of presentation and have fun while doing it! hehe (k-fashion, asian beauty 👀) HELL YEAH I’M DOWN FOR SHOPPING—
I like to dance yeehaw, and I was on a competitive dance team (well that was before when the corona hit the milly rock a little TOO hard and put all the dancers out of commission😔🤝😭) I’ve also been in my own highschool’s dance club for 4 years!!
I’m a console gamer :0 Big fan of winding down with video games, but books are the best if games aren’t an option.
Music is a huge part of my life; I played the flute and the viola for years before and been surrounded by music through dancing as well; while I’ve been in a choir before, my vocals aren’t stellar oof, but at least I’m not tone-deaf.
Can’t cook to save a life ooooof, that’s where my airheadness REALLY kicks in. I literally burn myself making instant :>
I’m not phased by sexual innuendos/conversations/kinks because I see them objectively as unique characteristics of every person, but I’ll crack up at a sex joke or a cringe flirt line with friends. And like I’ve said, I’ll share them myself without objection if ANYONE asks. But the moment someone actually TRIES to make a move on me (like what!!¡¿), I’ll first play it casual but then bolt for the door because it’s hard for me to actually imagine that ANY guy would see me in a romantic light LOL but i’d get used to the advances quick and if it’s someone i liked back, i’d tease them the same or raise up the antics ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
Hello and thank you for submitting with us! I hope that you are also taking good care of yourself as well, and I also sincerely hope that you like who I match you up with!
I’m sorry this is so late!
>Admin 𝕋
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽…
I ship you with the sweet Arthur! I feel as though with your energetic personality and his somewhat energetic yet dimwitted personality could really mesh well! If your humor is everywhere and lowbrow, then you should see Arthur’s! Your and his sense of humor are quite alike, and you both can definitely laugh at the weirdest things, but it’s cute! He will think you are cute because of it! And Arthur, he is open minded too, he is a very accepting person, and he would be very accepting of you and your quirks! And he will also be impressed that you can be so articulate, unlike him lolol.
He will think it is so cool that you write poetry for fun, and how you love expressing yourself through the arts. He may not fully understand the extent of your content, but he will understand that they are very important to you, and will cherish them too! Arthur will love the fact that you are so intuitive and observant of people, because well, he isn’t. That’s why he think you are so cool, because he wouldn’t be able to pick up on those types of cues! He will also be so impressed with your fashion and how you express yourself through clothes! Arthur will definitely like if you wear medieval inspired clothing! A queen for his king!
He will think being in a dance group would be so cool! He himself can’t dance to save his life, but he would love for you to teach him, so that he can get good enough for you to dance with him! Arthur will also love the fact that you love games! He loves playing them, and would like to play with you! He would show off his favorite video games to you!
You’d tell him that music is important to you, and how you play the flute, and he’d definitely relate it to the medieval times in some way, and would want to hear you play something from that time. And when you do, he would find it amazing, impressed with how well you play!
All in all, with his own airheadedness and bravery, Arthur would be such a good fit for you! He is kind, and warm, and someone that you can rely on when you need someone to lean on! He will be impressed with everything you can do that he can’t! Arthur will treasure you as his Queen!
I choose manly and chivalrous Koga as your Inuyasha boyfriend! I know this might seem like a good pair, but when I was reading through your description the first person that came to mind was Koga. He is someone that can be super serious in one second and super lighthearted in the next! He will see your airheadedness as something that is cute and charming, but he will also appreciate the fact that you are super observant and have great intuition! He would love for someone like that to be his wolf tribe leader wife! He would love to use your power to help the tribe communicate better! He will see it as a very beneficial characteristic and will be quite impressed!
Koga wouldn’t understand the notion of poetry, or reading, or writing, but when you explain to him, he will then think that it is pretty cool. Something that he wouldn’t actively pursue, but he will see that it is something that you very much enjoy and will do anything in his power to make sure that you have the tools you need so that you can properly be artistic! He will also see that your artistic expression also goes to your clothes and makeup and would be very impressed with the fact that you work it so well! He would comment saying that he could never look that good in makeup, saying you are the most beautiful he has ever seen in it, you just do it so well!
I believe that once Koga founds out that you dance and play flute, he will get super happy. Seeing as he the leader of a big demon tribe, he will have the need for entertainment in his down time, and guess what! You’re the entertainment, but in a good way! He will want to listen to you play the flute, and see what kind of melodies you play! Later on, he will have someone else who can play, so he can dance and teach you traditional demon wolf tribe dances!
All in all, Koga is more serious and calm, but with your loud energy and kind-hearted soul, he will just be sucked in by it. You will be the one to show him how to really have a good time, and you will be able to show him that sometimes you just need to take a breather and forget about the difficulties in life, especially when you are a demon leader!
I chose the loud and energetic Natsu of Fairy Tail to be your boyfriend! Seeing as you are super energetic and he is super energetic and loud, you guys would be the perfect pair! Natsu will see that you are so boisterous and can’t stay in the same place for a long time, because he is the same. So he will feel a sense of bonding! When it comes to you being serious and quiet, and knowing when to be, he will think it is really cool of you, only because he doesn’t have a filter, and doesn’t know when to shut up, so maybe you can teach him a few tricks!
When he sees how open you are, he will feel happy about that! He has been in dark times, and so have many of his friends, so when he knows that you are accepting of any type of person, he will love that, and would feel comfortable introducing you to his friends! Natsu will also be surprised yet impressed with the fact that you are so observant. He is only really observant when it comes to battle, and not really when it comes to people in everyday settings, so when you show him what you can do, he will have a shocked expression the entire time! He will also love the fact that on the other end of the spectrum you can be very loud and passionate!
When he sees you are very artistic with poetry, writing, and reading, and even with your makeup and fashion, it would show him that you aren’t afraid to express yourself and be yourself, and he would absolutely love that! He will want to see the things you write, and the things you read, and the things that make you you, so he can get a better understanding of you! And when it comes to the dancing and the music, and the fact that you can play the flute, he would be impressed and hella jealous that you can do such amazing things! He would definitely ask you teach him in the future!
All in all, I think that he would be a very loving and very accepting boyfriend for you! He will take you on all of his adventures and tell you all of his secrets, and treat you like treasure, like you deserve to be treated!
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hiiii okay so i'm a capricorn and i'm 5'6ish and i have long brown hair and green eyes and im pale! i like swimming, going to the beach, going to the movies, going for drives umm and i'm very shy 👉🏼👈🏼but i can be firey when it comes down to it bc im very stubborn and a little opinionated and i dont take shit from anyone. but i love with my whole heart and im very affectionate and i love love laughing so much and making people laugh and making sure ppl are comfortable! hope thats enough info!
i ship you with john b!! (honorary mention: pope definitely had a phat crush on you when you first came into the group, but like one of those short-lived, week-long friend crushes if ya know what i mean)
[ev’s pre-blurb rant about john b: okay this may just be my brain making jb into a better character than he actually is, but i feel like he is such a social butterfly, and even though he sucks a lot of the time i see him as super family (friend, in his case) oriented. before the whole treasure hunt, we hear him talk about all of his friends in such an intimate, loving way, and like, the guy’s whole summer goal was to have a good time all the time. seriously, he has to be kinda nice when he’s not adamantly searching for some fuckn treasure. but also like the dude’s dad is dead so give him a break he was in denial, okay?? but yeah i just feel like there’s kind of a lot of john b hate around here so i thought i would clarify my feelings abt the mans before i dove into this]
i feel like you would be that girl that john b always knew. like, even before jj, there was you. maybe your dads were friends, or your mom helped big john out right after jb’s mom left or something like that, but you probably wouldn’t remember the first time you really ever met him-- you just always knew each other. it wasn’t until his dad went missing, though, that you two would get really close. before, you’d smile at each other from across the hall at school, and if you were in the same science class he would ask you to be lab partners. but most of the time, your interactions were limited, and your relationship was simply acquaintances. once you heard about his dad, though, it would be your natural response to have to check in on him. you’d drop down next to him in class the first day he showed up after the news broke, and the look in his eye would absolutely break your heart. he was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and even though he put up that facade for 9 months, you knew that he knew. big john was gone, and he might never come back. maybe he wasn’t necessarily dead, but he wasn’t with john b, and that was enough to cause an inexplicable pain.
so you’d start going over to his house after school to drop off his assignments, because you knew sometimes he couldn’t ignore the really big swells that happened after lunch and wound up missing history and maybe a few math classes. you brought him homework a couple of times, and then one day he asked you to stay a bit longer to help him out with the history paper you both had due the next day. while you were sitting on the couch reading the essay, jj barged in without warning, eyes widening when he spotted you in his spot. “jb... did you know there’s a girl on your couch?” you would immediately jab back, barely making eye contact with him before going back to editing. “nice to see you, too, jj. maybe i should read your paper next-- that is, if you even have it written yet.” john b chuckled at the interaction, strolling back over to you and dropping down on the cushion next to you. when he picked up another notebook, jj squinted at the two of you in disbelief and slight confusion. “are you guys... are you doing homework?”
“yes, j,” john b would sigh, half of him wishing his friend would shut up, and the other half wishing he would leave altogether. “we are doing homework.” when john b went back to what jj [barely] recognized as pre-calc, jj stood there for a few more seconds, dumbfounded, before spinning on his heel and going into the guest room. hearing some rustling from the room, you looked up to find john b already glancing at you. “whatever he’s about to do... i apologize in advance.” you smiled, shaking your head and going back to his paper once again. a few moments later, jj walked back into the room, arms full of notebooks, papers, and books, while his mouth held two highlighters, a mechanical pencil, and a blue pen. he would plop down in front of you, spitting out his writing utensils and dropping his books before looking hopefully at you. “i got some homework to do, too. i fucking hate this shit. but i would also like to graduate some day. help?”
after another look was exchanged between you and john b, you smiled at jj and leaned forward to ruffle up his hair. “sure, buddy. i’ll help ya out.” he groaned at the affection, but started flipping through worksheets anyway. john b finally choked out a surprised sound, knowing it usually took much more to get jj engaged in anything educational. “you’re gonna be a real good thing for us, aren’t you?” with one last smile, you nodded and returned to his paper. it wouldn’t be the last thing you did with the pogues, or the last thing you did for john b.
#this was long#and i'm scared people hate john b too much to wanna be shipped with him#ships make me nervous#can yall tell#whatever hope u like!!!!#obx#outer banks#obx blurbs#obx blurb#obx ships#obx ship#outer banks blurbs#outer banks blurb#outer banks ships#john b routledge#john b#john b routledge blurbs#john b routledge blurb#john b blurbs#john b blurb
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Hello
Hi, this is a blog that will be used to track and document my college experiences from my second year on. As of now, I am a Marketing major which is under the business school... Please hold your laughter and scoffing at my major choice (directed at you STEM majors). Currently I have just successfully completed my first year in college. I think that there are several big takeaways from my first two semesters.
FIRST: Academics always trump extracurriculars
Being able to balance your mental health, academics, and any extracurriculars is extremely important. Coming from an International Baccalaureate Program, I did not think that school would be super challenging for me. I was also able to acquire leadership positions at my high school fairly easily, but as College is a lot bigger, I panicked and jumped at as many possibilities as possible. This included picking up the position of Marketing Director for a residence hall organization, videographer for a Chinese American organization, club rowing, and even a MGC sorority (rushing for the first semester and then becoming historian and webmaster for the second semester). In my first semester, I took 15 credits: Macroeconomics, Experiencing Music, Survey of Calculus 1, a course required by my university, and Introduction to Business. The two hardest courses here then were for sure Macroeconomics and Survey of Calc. But mostly Survey of Calc, as I found Macro to be a relatively easy class that did not require me to study weeks in advance to perform well on the exams. Calculus was hard for me from the beginning to the middle of the semester, I truly did not know what I was doing and was very frustrated about this. However, I was also juggling so many other extracurriculars and organizations that had time commitment requirements. Reflecting back on this, I see that I prioritized my extracurricular organizations and spent a majority of my time completing tasks for my organizations over studying for my exams. Remember when I said that Macro was easy? Yeah, it was definitely a class that came easily to me, but I finished that class 1% off from an A-. After actually dedicating time to my calc class, the information finally started to click and make sense after many many practice problems. However, I also finished that class off 1% away from an A-. Interesting how that works, huh? I still look back at that semester bitterly as I have concluded that had I not been overly involved in so many different organizations, I would have been able to allocate more of my time for studying or going to office hours and might have been able to get an A or an A+ in both of those classes. As my second semester is coming to an end, I realized that no matter how bitter I was about my almost A’s, that I ran into the same exact problem from my first semester in my second semester. I was still involved in all of the same organizations, excluding rowing, too many events happened late at night for many of my organizations and would conflict with the early practice times (I would sometimes only get 3 hours of sleep). And while yes, I could argue that I still was super involved, this second semester still shows the same result as my first: I prioritize my extracurriculars over my academics. As a person that prided themselves on taking academics very seriously, this first year at college seemed to show a complete 180 from the previous 12 years of schooling that I had done. That being said, I have turned down all leadership positions in my organizations to better focus on my academics without having the weekly officership requirements. I have also cut down on the organizations that I am involved in to just my sorority, since (lol) that is not something that I want to just drop as it is an organization that I take a lot of pride in and enjoy a lot, much to my parents’ dismay. However, with this next semester and academic school year coming up, I am utilizing more efficient ways to schedule things in and will actually schedule in study times into my schedule. I plan on making use of both my bullet journal and google calendars as I will get visual notifications from both and phone notifications from my calendar events.
SECOND: Mental health always trumps everything
Sometimes things just don’t work out. Whether it be relationship related, organization related, or school related. The most important thing is that you do what is actually best for you. This second semester as I continued to overexert myself, I actually had a mental breakdown in front of some board members before going to another organization’s events. Earlier that day, my parents had come to visit me to tour where I would be moving to for the next school year. While it was very nice seeing them again, they ended up cutting their visit short because I had little to no energy to actually interact with them. I was so tired from doing a late night event for one of my organizations and had barely gotten any sleep that night. So when they left I took a nap for about 30 minutes before having to get up and go to, you guessed it, a board meeting. As I am about a 24 minute walk from main campus, I ended up crying through those 24 minutes because of how mentally unhappy I was. This is what people like to refer to as “burnout”. I had been to every single required event despite there being a system where I could switch off with other people to go to those events. Why? I enjoy being social, I enjoy supporting friends, and at this point, I was so lonely and sad, that going to these events made me happy because it felt like I was temporarily eased of my sadness and my loneliness. As I type this I realize how sad that makes me sound, oh boy. But yes, burnout is a very real problem that many people can experience given enough time for build up and improper time management. It is okay to say no to things. It is okay to reach out to others when you need help. There is no such thing as over communication. The worst thing about this burnout experience was that I had not communicated with my employer, my organizations, nor my friends about how much I had going on. I only told them after I had my mental breakdown. It felt like a surge of different emotions were coming out of me all at the same time. At first I was sad, and then those sad tears turned into anger. Anger over how my organizations were requiring so much, anger over people that weren’t pulling their weight, and anger over how I had let myself get to this point. The most interesting thing about this entire experience perhaps, is that I tend to fill my void of sadness or emptiness with work and this time, the work happened to be for my organizations. Something had happened at the beginning of the second semester that had made me really kind of sad. To take my mind off of things I set my mind on something different like my organizations. This actually worked spectacularly well at keeping my sadness away, and so I continued to give my all into each organization. However, towards the end of the semester, I found that I had been hurting myself mentally by exhausting myself so much. You need to take self care days, you need to take care of yourself and learn to love yourself. Only then can you contribute and partake in other external activities. If your mental health and state are not doing well, then there is no way that you can give back to others and give be able to give back well. Something small that I picked up this second semester was watching little retanking videos before I slept. They were very peaceful and were able to help put me at ease before sleeping. That being said, I feel like another main contributing factor to my decline in mental health was that I procrastinated... a lot. Very bad yes. All of these factors combined to make one huge toxic cocktail type deal.
THIRD: Staying proactive and productive can help you
It is so important to keep track of when assignments and exams are due. During this semester, I had a few... surprise... exams come up that were definitely not a welcomed surprise. This would make me stress study for exams and cram for two days straight. This is not fun. Pulling all nighters is not the way to go if you can avoid it. This second semester, I have missed small quizzes because of my lack of planning and scheduling. While I still ended up getting an A in that class, my stress would have been significantly reduced had I planned ahead and stuck to the schedule that I would have made. I feel like this takeaway is pretty straight forward and there isn’t really too much to talk about regarding this topic as it is also pretty self-explanatory.
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The Things That Bind Us
Prompt: Historical AU - Soulmates
Pirates/Privateers are historical right? *youtuber voice* Anyway tell me in the comments down below if I nailed it or failed it!
ao3
~~~
As the ship came into view Dick said: "Remember why we're here, keeping Lois Lane alive is what will get us paid."
The reminder was more for Steph and Tim than anyone else. Cass and Dick had too much control to accidentally kill someone.
Cass shifted their course slightly, so that they'd pass right by the Soledad on the waves. To an average observer it would just look like they miscalculated their course slightly. To the Soledad it would look like they miscalculated their course slightly. Of course, they didn't. Babs couldn’t miscalculate anything. But it will be a good enough excuse for them to get close, and then from their ship it would be just a run and a jump away from the Soledad, and the raid will be over before they know it.
With his spyglass Tim could see Lois at the front of the ship. Next to her stood a man with black hair and colorful clothes of blue and red. His face was away from the spyglass but Tim knew him for who he was, Zod. Just like Bruce said.
They'd gotten the mayday call from Lois a few weeks ago. She had been sure that Zod had figured out that she was a spy for England, and would soon be taking her out to die “accidentally” at sea. Her informant would be with her, she claimed, and even if he didn’t drown with her he was bound not to be safe.
So, Dick was called to action the moment he'd docked in London.
It wasn't that Tim minded being hired by the crown, money was money after all, but all these rules... No killing, saving damsels in distress... it was annoying. He kind of missed the good old days of just the sea and his crew, going wherever they wanted, no one to answer to.
But Dick kept them safe. Dick kept them fed. And money, after all, was money.
Tim readied himself as they drew closer to the Soledad. His hand tightened on the rope he held. When they got the cue from Lonnie up in the bird's nest, they'd swing over.
Cass stood next to him. She didn't need a rope to swing over. She'd just take a running leap off the gangplank and land on the other side, just like she always did. Tim was jealous of her for that (well, more than just that). He still had to work on his skills every day, how to swing, how to fight, how to shoot. She even had better aim with the cannons than he did, which was hard since no one had good aim with cannons.
"Something's wrong..." Cass muttered as she watched them draw closer to the Soledad.
"What do you mean? Babs did the calc-"
"Not with the course. With the ship." Cass said. Her eyes narrowed.
Now Tim could see the crew of the other ship. And he studied them, looking for whatever it was that Cass saw. They seemed friendly enough for Spaniards. Some even waved as they drew closer. Tim waved back.
"Do they look familiar to you?" Tim asked.
Cass' eyes flickered back and forth between the crew members.
Her eyes widened as they settled on a member. "Badaxe." She said.
"Ravers." Tim's heartbeat upticked. "RAVERS!" He and Cass were already in motion, just making it across the gap between their ships.
Dick blew his whistle and the rest of the Batmen are already readying themselves for battle. So much for a simple job, Tim thought bitterly as he dropped to the other ship. Sparx turned around, her knives are already out, but so are Tim's. And Tim is better than she is. But why was Zod working with Ravers? The Spaniard military hated privateers. Unless...
"AMBUSH!" Cruz shouted as he dives out of the way of Cass'. "BATMEN! READY THE CANNONS!" Which Tim knew would only hurt him if they tried to fire. The debris at this distance would damage their own ship.
Tim ignored Dick's no killing rule and went for Sparx's heart, missing when he saw something flicker behind him. He turned right in time to catch the corner of a gun and yank it aside. It went off. The recoil shocked Tim up to the elbow, making him drop his knife. He managed to duck just in time as Sparx's knives went over his head.
He rolled away and up, his sword in his hand, now facing Sparx and... Just as he thought. Tim grimaced.
It hadn't been Zod he'd seen on the helm of the boat with Lois at all. It was Kon.
The Super Boy.
"Robin. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Kon asked in Spanish, not knowing that Tim spoke it.
Awesome. Just what Tim wanted. Easy, huh?
Sparx attacked first. Tim parried her blow and twisted out of the way of Kon's rapier. He'd thrown his musket away after it's shot. They tended to be more or less useless in a real fight, taking forever to reload. Too bad Kon had missed.
Alone, Tim probably could have taken Sparx easily. But with the Super Boy at her back Tim might just have been out of his league.
But Cass wasn't. Sparx, distracted by Tim and Kon, didn't notice her come up from behind. She took out Sparx with a single blow to the head, already having disabled Cruz. Kon lashed at her and dodged Tim's attack. He caught her metal arm-guards and Cass backed away.
"Get Lois!" Tim told her. "I can handle him."
Cass nodded and dashed off.
Tim had never fought Super Boy up close before. All the times before they'd just missed one another, one way or another. Kon's reputation preceded him.
Super Boy lunged and Tim parried. Kon was stronger than he was but Tim was faster. Tim laid off the parry and ducked as Kon's sword swung over his head, instead kicking at Kon's legs. Get him on the ground, Tim reminded himself. Use your bodyweight to your advantage.
Kon stumbled backward but didn't fall. Tim's rapier grazed up Kon's leg. He mostly got Kon's baggy pants, but from the way Kon shouted and hopped back, there must have been some skin in there.
"Bastard." Kon snarled at him as he lunged.
Tim knocked aside his blade, cutting a line across his glove. Kon's fingers flexed in pain and dropped his sword.
"I speak Spanish." He informed Kon smugly.
Kon growled and threw aside his gloves, blood dripped from his hand onto the deck. A dangerous action: opening himself up to accidental touch. Not that it would matter much longer, if Tim killed Kon there would be no way the Super Boy would find a soulmate. Not that Tim believed in soulmates of course, playwright nonsense if you asked him.
Kon dove at Tim. He knocked Tim’s sword out of his own gloved hands. He grabbed Tim by the shoulders and the two of them went down onto the deck. Tim kneed him in the privates sharply and rammed his elbow into the side of Kon's ear, using that leverage to roll them over. He sent a punch to Kon's face as Kon sent one back into Tim's chest.
It was hard enough that Tim stumbled back, heaving in air. Tim understood why they called him the Super Boy, strength like that shouldn't have been possible. Tim wheezed. Kon scrambled to his feet.
Tim's dodged another punch from Kon, looking for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. He noticed Sparx's knives on the ground and he stumbled as he grabbed them.
Kon swore.
He backed up and stopped as he pressed up against the railing on the ship.
Tim grinned. He began advancing, watching as Kon looked frantically around. He could run, but Tim was faster and he knew that. He could jump, but the chances of surviving a jump into unknown waters weren't large. Especially when bleeding.
"Wait!" The word cut through the air. Lois. "Don't kill him!"
Tim turned to her. She stood with Dick. Cass, Steph, and Lonnie were finishing up tying up the rest of the Ravers.
At that moment Kon tackled Tim, trying to wrench one of the knives from his hands.
"Get off of me!"
"Stop! They work for the Crown!" She shouted to him in Spanish as Tim tried to stick him.
Kon froze. He rose and stumbled backwards, hands still balled into fists. "The English Crown? The Batmen are also privateers?"
Lois came sprinting down to them, panting as she did.
She put a restraining hand on Tim's shoulder. "He's the informant." She told him.
Tim's eyes widened. "Are you serious? The Super Boy is your informant?" A traitor to the Spanish crown? But he'd worked for the Spaniards for years! How could Lois have possibly-
"The Batmen are your contacts?" Kon snarled at her, flinging an accusatory finger at Tim. "Robin?"
"Hey, I'm not happy about it either buddy." Tim snapped. But Lois didn't say anything, her eyes were caught on Kon. Her mouth hung open.
"Kon... your hand..." She whispered. Tim's eyes flickered to Kon's hand. At first Tim had dismissed the flash of red he'd seen, but no, he realized. Tim had nicked the backside of Kon's hand. The red which spread across his finger was on the palmside. Kon looked down at it and swore. His palm was covered in a deep red color.
But... if Kon was surprised by the color then... it must have been new? But-
Tim looked down, moving aside his shirt where Kon had grabbed him. There, on the collarbone were four spots of coloring, black as coal. Fingertips and a palm. He immediately covered it with a hand, as if he could keep it hidden from sight.
Tim didn't believe in soulmates. Fairy talk. Of course he wore the same protections as everyone else despite the heat of the sea: long sleeved clothes, gloves, and high knee boots. Everything to keep himself safe, just in case.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Tim said.
"What's going on down there?" Dick shouted. Tim jumped, he'd forgotten where he was.
"Nothing!" Tim responded. "Nothing! Let's get out of he-"
"BLESS! TIM! IS THAT A SOULMARK?" Steph shouted from beside him, hand over her mouth.
Tim turned bright red. Almost as red as the color that stained Kon's hand. Kon's eyes lingered on Tim's collarbone. "Is that...?"
"No." Tim snapped at him. There was no way Tim's soulmate--if they did exist--could be a Spaniard. Much less a traitor. He turned his back to Kon.
"Come on," he said to Lois, "let's get you back to the Queen."
"He's coming too."
"If he has to." Tim said with the most noncommittal shrug he could manage. He readjusted his shirt so that it covered the dark mark.
He bent down to pick up as many weapons as he could manage for the armory on board the Redbird.
With Cass' help, Bette rolled out the bridge from the Redbird.
Steph ran down to Tim, grabbing at his neck. "Let me see it!"
"No! Get off, Spoiler!"
Steph rolled her eyes and glanced at Lois and Kon who were talking softly in Spanish. Probably Lois explaining what would happen now. This wasn't the first time that Bruce had needed to send in the Batmen to get Lois and any informants she'd had out of trouble she'd gotten herself into.
"I think your soulmate can hear my real name." Steph said.
"He's not my soulmate."
"The universe seems to disagree. How romantic! Just like in a tragedy-"
"Oh, yeah. That's exactly what I want my life to be like. Just sit me on stage in the Globe, why don't you."
"Keep being a bitch and when we get back I'll go right to Shakespeare himself. Now, let me see it-!"
"Keep your voice down!" Tim hissed, glancing nervously back at Kon.
"So... the Super Boy, huh?" Dick asked as he walked over.
"What's the hold up?" Bette shouted from the Redbird. "Everyone on board!"
"Shut up." Tim told Dick as he tried to move Tim's collar to get a good look at the mark.
"Hey, at least he's working for the Crown-"
"He's a traitor. And a Spaniard at that. He's untrustworthy."
Dick shrugged. "Lord Kent vouches for him."
Tim glared at Dick. "You knew he was the informant and didn't deign to tell us?" It was such a thing that Bruce would do that Tim was shocked.
Dick looked offended. "I didn't know! Lois just told me!"
Tim still scowled. "Well, maybe she should have told us-"
"What's it matter? You didn't kill him and it all worked out, right?" Dick asked as he headed across the rope bridge.
Tim was tempted to shake it just to make him drop into the water. He didn't. But he was tempted.
Tim climbed over after him. Kon went next. Then Lois. Then Cass. Bette reeled it in after they'd all climbed over and waved to Azrael to lift the anchor.
Dick pulled Lois aside to talk to her about something and Cass eyed Kon appreciatively before telling Tim: "Not a bad man to have."
Tim scowled at her, readjusting his shirt again. "I'm not his soulmate."
Cass raised an eyebrow and patted Tim's back. "Okay." She said. Then she pulled Steph aside to stop her from ambushing Tim again.
Kon tapped him on the shoulder with his red finger. Tim jumped, turning around. "Is... is this really-?" He asked, showing his spotted red palm to Tim, his eyes on Tim's shoulder.
Tim clenched his hand to stop himself from scratching at the mark which had become unbearably itchy since being at the center of so much attention.
"No." Tim interrupted. "It's just a smudge of grease from cleaning. It's not actually a mark."
He turned to leave, and so that Kon couldn't see his burning cheeks. Kon grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to face him.
He was so close. Tim could see the small, faint scar across his cheekbone from some long ago battle. His bronzed skin warm to the touch. His black hair fluttered in the wind and his blue eyes sparkled more than the sea.
Tim felt like he had when Kon had punched him in the chest--unable to breathe.
His still-gloved hand tightened around Tim's wrist. Kon raised his mark one to Tim's collar. Tim couldn't pull away, he felt bewitched. Maybe this was like one of Shakespeare's plays. There was a reason that sailors were so superstitious. Even Tim could agree that omens existed. The sea was too bitter to not believe them.
But Kon's eyes weren't bitter. They were full of light.
Spaniards, he thought dumbly, too pretty for their own good.
Kon's marked fingers brushed aside Tim's shirt, showing the three fingerprints and palmprint seared there. He pressed his fingers against the prints. Tim couldn't help but notice that they matched perfectly.
"Grease." Kon repeated hollowly. His blue eyes flickered back to Tim's own.
Tim couldn't breathe again. A realization struck him. "I love you." The words were whispered. Barely even said. But Kon had to have heard them with how close he was. Tim was immediately glad he hadn't said them in Spanish. "Yeah, grease."
It was a stupid response, really, because it was clearly not true. Tim pulled away from Kon slowly, his fingers dropped from Tim's collarbone. It felt like ripping away a part of himself. Tim could see Kon look down at his fingers, completely free of any grease that would have rubbed off on them. Kon pressed the red fingertips to his lips, and looked back up at Tim.
Tim's heart did something funny in his chest.
Kon's grip tightened once again on Tim's wrist. He pulled him back in and kissed Tim hard. His marked hand catching Tim against the back of his neck. Tim couldn't pull away, not that he wanted to with Kon's warm lips on his.
Kon broke the kiss, leaving Tim heaving for air. His gloved hand finally letting go of Tim's wrist. Kon's pupils were so dilated that their beautiful sea blue were almost gone.
He didn't seem nearly as affected as Tim, but he was in no way unaffected, Tim was happy to see.
As Tim tried to catch his breath (tried to prevent himself from hurling himself at Kon and kissing him again) his eyes met Kon's again.
All Kon said after that was: "I speak English."
#diana writes timkon#diana writes batman#diana writes dc#timkonweek#timkon week#timkon week 2019#timkon week: day 5#the things that bind us#soulmate au#historical au
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you got me (tripping)
Pairing: Matt Holt/Lotor
Words: 1,246
---
His Monday starts with him tripping on his shoelaces, books he held close prior to the fall now spread haphazardly on the floor around him.
There is no warning. No booming voice announcing that he would be getting shit today and no weird tingly feeling that something might go wrong. Just his left foot stepping on the aglet and he makes an unfortunate choice of immediately moving his right, gravity taking him down faster than he can say “Yahtzee!”
Matt’s kind of happy that at least he didn’t break his glasses with the fall, hand moving to adjust them as he squints at the blurry surroundings. He’s foregone contacts today, too tired and in a hurry to get to Astrophysics to endure the process of it so his old glasses would have to do, outdated lenses aside. It would give him a headache but he can’t be bothered. Shiro is already is giving him some stink eye because he was late three times this week for some benign reason and even if he was Matt’s best friend, he was the TA that no one would want to mess with. Not even Adam who Shiro was suspiciously fond of escaped community service for not showing up to class for a week without an excuse. What school does that? Were they in high school?
He starts by grabbing the closest books he can make out even if the world is in Youtube resolution 144p and groping around the floor with his other hand for his glasses. Classic nerd moment for him to be on his knees patting the ground for his glasses. Velma is so proud. He half regrets laughing his ass off when Adam was in the same predicament as this three weeks ago.
“Goddammit, I’m going to be late.” he mutters under his breath, books to his chest and still trying to find his glasses. He knows he looks like a lunatic right now but he doesn’t have time to be self-conscious. Maybe he should have just wore his contacts-
“Here, Holt. You look like you need these.”
Matt freezes, unsure if it’s his mind is playing tricks on him when that teasing voice sinks into his ears. He scrunches his nose, standing up abruptly and turning to where he thought the sound came from, careful to not step on his shoelaces again (oh, the embarrassment). He feels a hand on his shoulder, instinctively turning and jabbing his elbow as it hits someone right in the chest. Stranger danger, his mind screams but the familiar laughter rings and he almost backpedals as his glasses are set back over his eyes.
Lotor’s amused expression becomes clearer and Matt is really backpedaling because he was too close that he can smell that expensive cologne that has no business making Matt shiver at how good it smells. It doesn’t help either that there’s a pleasant burn against his skin where Lotor’s fingers brushed when he put his glasses back.
“Princey, you should have said something if you got my glasses.” he says, hoping it didn’t sound like a squeak because Matt is a cool kid who doesn’t fluster around tall and distracting foreign exchange students. Especially ones who throw him off his game so hard his sister is considering that he lost his brain cells from dabbing too much to the tune of Africa by Toto.
Lotor doesn’t take offense (he never does, the sly fucker) and merely hands Matt the two books he missed “And miss you crawling around like a lost lamb? You don’t know me at all.”
Yeah, Matt doesn’t know a lot. He only knows the things that people speculate about Lotor as he first arrived in their school in a Ferrari with his dyed white hair, strutting like a runway model instead of a student in university. Some say he was a hair actor in Japan, some making a rather lengthy essay of how he was born from a Russian mob boss and an exotic princess and that he was Allura’s fiance who moved here to be with her. Matt vetoed the last rumor because Allura had complained to Shiro beforehand that Lotor was her distant cousin and that she rather not have that rumor exist.
Matt wants to know Lotor. Preferably while on a date as they stare at the stars because Matt wants to talk about stars so he can look away from the twinkling mirth in Lotor’s eyes-
Hold up. Gotta stop that thought right there and back up to reality. Stop getting lost in your head, Matthew Holt.
Lotor is looking at him strangely, part amused and something else that was probably concealed discomfort so Matt hastily speaks up “We should go to class! I mean, I should go. Uh, yeah. Me. Going now.”
Eloquent.
Lotor only looks at him with that same look as he speeds around him. Matt feels his gaze on the back of his head as he walks down the hall. God, can he be more obvious? Who needs a blinking sign when Matt’s flushed cheeks and useless, flopping mouth is enough to signal “I like-like you” like some preschooler?
Sure, he doesn’t know why the hell he likes Lotor. Okay, he is attractive. Anyone with functioning eyes can see how he carries himself with the grace of nobility and the natural cockiness that only stated he can stand his ground should anyone challenge him. Matt did do a double take when he first met him, craning his neck up because he’s goddamn tall and his hair shouldn’t be allowed because it reached his waist. Silver ear cuffs on the curve of his ears that seemed pointed at certain angles complimenting his dark skin tone and how he dresses for Milan Fashion Show (he probably has items from said fashion show) and violet eyes. Matt almost sighs.
Whatever it is, Matt is pretty sure he can’t mess up another equation in class again because Lotor,who sat in front of him by blessing or curse, had his hair in a bun. Advanced Calculus is supposed to be an easy A for him but he’s been missing a mark or two during quizzes recently because Lotor would sometimes ask him for a white out pen, leaning back and that lock of hair that stubbornly jutted out front would curl over his cheek and Matt is hyper aware of his own flushed cheeks and rapid fire pulse as he handed the item, consequently losing his train of computation.
Pidge called him a washed out prodigy but took back their gloating when Matt still beat them in their weekly sibling bonding coding sessions.
“Hey, Holt!”
Matt shakes out of his thoughts just as he is almost rounding the corner, looking over his shoulder to see Lotor giving him a wave and a lopsided grin. He quirks a brow, confused. He should really be running to class now, tempted to look at his watch to see if he was at least thirty minutes late but he thinks it’s rude to look away when Lotor probably needs something. Or is that just wishful thinking?
Lotor cups a palm near his mouth, almost as if he thinks Matt won’t hear his next words and is trying to amplify them. “See you in Calc!”
Oh, but Matt does hear.
And when Lotor turns away to walk to wherever he is going, he narrowly misses Matt tripping on air with a bright red face.
#my writing#mattor#matt x lotor#rare pair#fanfic#vld#stupid with love au#vld lotor#matt holt#i was sad so i made this#drabble
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Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 11
a/n: We're in the home stretch of this story now! It's going to cover the end of the school year and then an epilogue, so this chapter plus probably another two. Thanks so much to you all for reading, and especially for reblogging and leaving comments. I'm terrible at replying, but please know that every single one makes me smile and I so appreciate them.
This chapter flirts just a bit with the M rating, though it's Liam and Belle who are getting naughty, not Emma and Killian. It's really just a hint of smut, but if you'd rather not read it, that scene is in italics so just skip over :). Summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with. Rating: T Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10| Chapter 11
Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4
Chapter 11:
For a moment Killian stood immobile, his body frozen as his mind tumbled backwards into a nightmare, an old familiar one from which he had only recently awoken.
No, he thought frantically, pushing back against the paralysis. No, not again. I won’t have this again.
Anger surged through him, saving anger, the anger he’d buried, for his own sake, at Dr Hopper’s advice, but which he’d been unable to quench completely. Now it blazed through him like wildfire, thawing his frozen limbs and fuelling him. Never again. He grabbed Aurora’s arms with a bruising grip, pulling her off him and shoving her away, not even caring that he might hurt her. I will not go through this again.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his eyes so dark and brimming with fury that Aurora stumbled backwards in alarm. She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Just giving you a little push,” she said “I know you want me, so I just thought I’d—”
“Stop right there,” said Killian harshly. “I don’t ‘want you,’ as you so charmingly put it, and I have never once so much as hinted that I did. Where did you get that idea?”
Her brow wrinkled into a baffled frown. “Well— I mean, come on. You’re always teasing me, making me laugh, calling me ‘love’—”
“I do that with everyone!” shouted Killian, making her flinch. He ran his hand through his hair, wondering where he’d gone so badly wrong. “Haven’t you noticed?”
Aurora shrugged again. Of course she hadn’t noticed, thought Killian in disgust, and this wasn’t his fault. She rarely noticed anything that didn’t directly affect her. He’d done his best to keep her at a distance, and she’d failed to pick up on a single one of his cues.
Aurora looked affronted. “Are you seriously rejecting me?” she asked incredulously. “Me?”
“Of course I’m bloody rejecting you,” he snarled as his tenuous hold on his temper snapped. “I literally just said I’m not interested! Do you never listen?” He rounded on her, stalking towards her, backing her up against the wall of the school and invading her space, feeling a strange, dark pleasure at the way her eyes widened in fear. “But naturally you don’t listen, do you, because you’re a pretty girl and that means you can do whatever you want, take whatever you want, isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you believe? And when someone dares to tell you no, you have the audacity, the bloody, fucking gall, to be insulted by that. Because it would never cross your mind that your advances might be unwelcome.”
He knew in the back of his mind that he was being unfair, that Aurora was merely vain and self-centred; she didn’t have any kind of agenda, wasn’t trying to use him. Of course, Milah hadn’t tried to use him either but he’d still felt used. Aurora needed to learn to respect people’s boundaries.
She was staring at him with wide eyes.“I didn’t— I just—” she stuttered, “You’re hot, and I just wanted— I didn’t mean to— to—”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But your intentions, your reasons, your excuses, whatever makes you feel you can take advantage of others, they don’t make a speck of difference to the people on the receiving end. The people who are made to feel helpless by your actions, who don’t wish to go along with them but can’t say no because they fear the consequences.”
He felt his hand curl into a fist and fought down the urge to slam it into the wall. He wanted to lash out, to hurt something, and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to resist the compulsion. Dimly, he heard Dr Hopper’s calm, soothing voice in his head. Being angry is normal, Killian. It’s natural. It’s fine. You need to give yourself permission to feel it. But you can’t allow it to control you. You control it.
He imagined pulling the plug from a bathtub, watched the water swirl away, taking his fury with it until only drops remained. He imagined the drops drying up. Gone. All gone. Drawing several deep breaths he opened his eyes and stepped back. “Look,” he said to Aurora, who was waching him warily, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I was truly just being friendly. You’re a lovely girl, but I’m not interested in… in that way.”
She relaxed visibly as he increased the space between them, but didn’t move away from the wall. “It’s Emma isn’t it,” she said in a small voice. “She’s the one you want.”
“Of course it’s Emma,” replied Killian automatically. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I love her.”
The words fell so naturally from his lips, a simple statement of incontrovertible fact, and in a sudden blinding flash of clarity he realised that it was true. All the anger and confusion and feelings of inadequacy he’d been struggling with for months were swept away and replaced by a simple, calm certainty. He loved Emma, for real. His feelings were real this time, and he could trust them.
It was like Sheriff Swan had said. You just knew.
“I’m— I’m sorry, Aurora, I have to go,” he said, grabbing his bag. “I’ll text you later about the project.” He didn’t wait for her response. Emma would be at Granny’s with Walsh; he wasn’t supposed to meet her for another forty-five minutes but he couldn’t wait. He had to see her.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out.
Emma: Hey, I’m not feeling well, can we do Granny’s another time?
Disappointment flooded him. Sure, love, he texted back. Are you okay?
Emma: Fine, just a headache. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow, thought Killian. Tomorrow he would tell her how he felt —doubtless it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise to her, if even Aurora, even Neal could see it. Killian suspected that subtletly was not his strong suit when it came to affection— and he would find the courage to ask her if she felt the same. He thought she did, was almost certain, but the possibility that she didn’t was suddenly terrifying.
But Emma wasn’t in school the next day.
Headache turned out to be the flu, she texted in response to his concerned inquiry. Just need rest. Gonna stay in bed the next few days.
He sent her a meme he’d found that he thought would make her laugh.
Her response came after several minutes. Don’t text me for a while. I’m fine, but I need rest.
His eyebrows snapped together as he read the message, worry twisting into a hard knot in his chest. Even if she was ill, Emma would still want to hear from him.
Wouldn’t she?
The next day was Saturday, the first day of the longest weekend of Killian’s life. He spent the morning in his room checking his phone obsessively, knowing there would be nothing from Emma but still unable to stop hoping. He tried to read, tried to play his guitar, but nothing could hold his interest or distract him from the niggling feeling that something was badly wrong. That night he watched five minutes of half a movie with Liam and Belle before giving up and going to bed to spend half the night awake and staring at his bedroom ceiling.
Sunday was much the same, only worse. In the morning he blasted some music loud enough to drown his thoughts as he did his calc and physics homework. Once that was finished, he was again at a loss. The afternoon found him lying listlessly on the sofa, staring at the wall, willing time to pass.
“What’s eating you, brother?” asked Liam, coming to sit next to him. His voice was cheerful, but there was worry behind his eyes. Killian attempted to smile, to reassure his brother that he wasn’t falling back into his dark place again. “Nothing, really,” he said. “I’m just a bit worried about Emma. She says she’s got the flu, but I can’t help feeling there’s something else wrong. She— she told me not to text her.”
Liam pulled Killian up and into a hug, feeling inadequate, wishing he had some advice. He hadn’t dated at all at Killian’s age, being far too busy raising his little brother, so he had no personal experience to draw on. All he could offer was distraction. “Belle and I are just leaving,” he said. “Going for a quick sail. You’re welcome to join.”
“Thanks, Liam, but no,” said Killian. He appreciated the offer but knew that Liam and Belle really didn’t want him tagging along on their sailing trip. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“As you like,” said Liam. “We’ll be back in time for dinner. How about pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
Killian’s feet carried him through the streets of Storybrooke without his conscious thought, and he wasn’t terribly surprised when he realised they had brought him to Emma’s house. He didn’t knock on the door, respecting her request for rest and solitude, but he did stand for a long time across the street staring up at her bedroom window.
“I hope you’re all right, Swan,” he whispered, then turned to go back home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emma was back at school on Monday, at her locker as usual when Killian arrived. His heart leapt into his throat as he hurried over, trying not to look like he was hurrying. “Hey, Swan,” he said, unable to suppress the stupid, adoring grin he was sure he had on his face. She looked up and for a moment she smiled back, the radiant, beautiful smile he loved. Then she seemed to remember something, and the smile crumbled at the edges. “How are you feeling?” he inquired.
She shrugged. “I’m better. How was your weekend?”
“Dull. I missed you.” He looked at her closely, reaching out to brush her hair from her face as he’d done a hundred times before. She flinched, just a tiny twitch, so small he’d have missed it if he weren’t so intent on her. It felt like a knife through his heart. “Are you sure you’re all right, Emma?”
“Yeah, fine. I’ve gotta go, though, I want to see my psych teacher before class to get the work I missed from Friday. I’ll see you in English, okay?” Before he could reply she was gone. He stood long after she had disappeared, the knot of worry in his chest tighter than ever. Something was definitely very, very wrong.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was uncharacteristically quiet in English class, and when the period was over she made another excuse about seeing her sociology teacher to get the makeup work and left before he could offer to walk with her. He fidgeted all through his French class, and as soon as the bell rang he was out the door, hoping to catch her as she left sociology. She was quicker than he was, however, and all he saw was a flash of golden hair going around the corner.
Killian scowled so hard that a pair of freshmen actually jumped when they saw him, and scrambled to get out of his way. He knew Emma had a free period next and he suspected he knew where she’d be. Without a qualm he walked straight past the door of his German classroom and headed for the library.
He found her in their corner, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She was folded up tightly with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in them. “Emma,” he said, and she jumped in surprise and looked up.
“Go away, Killian,” she whispered. “I can’t— just please go away.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to go away.” He knelt beside her, placing a tentative hand on her arm. She drew a shaky breath but didn’t pull away. “Please talk to me, love,” he implored. “I know there’s something bothering you. Please tell me what it is. I want to help.”
Emma wanted to cry, to scream, to tear something apart. She had spent the past three days in bed pretending to be sick, trying to steel herself for what she would need to do to survive seeing him, to be his friend now that all her hopes were shattered. That morning when he’d smiled at her like nothing had changed she’d nearly shattered herself. Seeing him was so hard, harder than she’d expected. So hard she wasn’t sure she could do it. The warmth of his hand on her arm called to her, made her want to bury herself against him and beg him to love her, even as she wished she could run far away and never see him again.
“You can’t help,” she whispered.
“Why not? What’s troubling you, darling?”
The endearment spoken so softly in his newly deep voice ripped a new piece off her tattered heart. Why did he have to care so much about her, but still not care enough? She shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his beloved face, his gorgeous eyes full of concern.
She couldn’t do this anymore, she thought in despair, couldn’t hold her feelings in. Couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what, my love?”
She was too upset to notice the possessive pronoun. “I tried,” she said, “I tried so hard just to be your friend, I know that’s what you need, you don’t need my mess— but I can’t do it anymore. I’m so sorry.”
“Wha— what are you saying?” he asked, his voice tinged with panic. “You can’t be my friend anymore?”
She gave a small, frantic sob. “No, I can’t, I can’t be your friend—”
“Emma, please,” he whispered, his voice desperate now, “Please don—”
“—because I love you,” she burst out, cutting him off, her eyes still shut tight, not wanting to see pity on his face. “I love you so much, Killian, and… it just hurts too much, that’s all. It hurts to love someone who only sees you as a friend.”
He was silent for a long time. Tears began to burn behind her eyes and she wished he would go away so she could let them fall.
“Is that really what you think?” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “That I only see you as a friend?”
Something in his tone made her gasp, and her eyes flew open as she looked up at him. “Well, isn’t that how you see me?” she asked, not daring to hope.
Killian shook his head, looking incredulous. “And here I thought I was so bloody obvious,” he muttered. He shifted until he was sitting next to her, taking her hand and gently pulling her out of her out of her defensive huddle until they were facing each other, their shoulders braced against the wall. “Emma, love, of course I see you as a friend. You are my best friend. The best friend I’ve ever had.” He smiled wryly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not also just completely in love with you.”
She drew in her breath sharply as the hope she’d been holding back surged through her, and gripped his hand tightly. “You are?” she breathed.
“I am. Hopelessly.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “I honestly thought you knew. Everyone else does.”
“What do you mean everyone else?”
“Oh, you know. Liam, your dad, Aurora, most of the school probably, hell even bloody effing Neal knows. I’m not subtle in my affections, Swan.”
“Well I certainly didn’t know!” she cried.
His eyes were soft and intense, filled with a heat she’d never seen in them before, one that made her nerve endings sizzle as he leaned closer. The butterflies were headbanging in her belly. He reached up and cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking fire across her cheekbone. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make my feelings more… explicit,” he whispered as his hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers tangling through her hair. She forgot to breathe as he pulled her gently towards him, then his lips were on hers and she forgot everything.
The kiss started out soft, a delicate brush of slightly parted lips, clinging with just a hint of wetness. It was wonderful, and not nearly enough. Emma leaned closer, pressing her mouth harder against his, excitement swirling through her when he nudged her lips apart and took the kiss deeper, encouraging her tongue into his mouth to dance with his and moaning softly when her arm wrapped around him and she gripped the back of his shirt tightly in her fist.
Encouraged by that moan, driven by the need to feel him against her she’d suppressed for so long, Emma pushed Killian back until both his shoulders were against the wall then crawled into his lap. Kneeling across his hips she pressed herself against him, twining her arms around his neck. She could feel his heart pounding against hers and when his hand slid down her back to cup her ass her butterflies lost their tiny minds. He was kissing her so deeply now that it was almost more than she could handle, his greater experience in this area making itself evident as he demanded things of her that she had never even imagined doing before. But Killian was patient and careful not to overwhelm her, instead leading her along, showing her what felt good and encouraging her to try it for herself. She felt— powerful, and sexy, and so turned on she thought she might just burst into flames right there in the library.
Neal had always called her a prude and deep down she had worried that he was right. She certainly hadn’t liked the way he’d touched her, always grabbing at her, always pushing for more than she was ready to give. When he’d shoved his tongue in her mouth she had always had to fight against the revulsion that rose up in her throat, always pulled away as soon as she could. Neal had blamed her for the lack of heat between them, and she realised that deep down she had also blamed herself. But it hadn’t been her, Emma realised now, there was nothing wrong with her, she’d just been kissing the wrong boy. Kissing Killian was so different, the heat and wetness of his mouth so delicious, his tongue both rough and soft against her own, she just wanted to kiss him forever. His hands and mouth on her were somehow both gentle and passionate, insistent yet also reverent. His touch swept away all of her insecurities and erased every thought of Neal from her mind.
God, she loved him.
She pulled back from the kiss and looked down at him, at his red lips and glazed eyes, his hair mussed by her fingers. He smiled at her, an adoring, beautiful smile that made her heart ache with love. “Emma,” he breathed. “You are— everything to me. Everything I have ever wanted or could ever have dreamt of. I love you. So much.” He spoke the last words against her lips as she kissed him again, sinking into him until they were lost to everything but each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Belle was reshelving books when she saw them. Reshelving was an activity that she greatly enjoyed, requiring as it did minimal thought, leaving her mind free to wander where it may. That afternoon it was wandering in the pleasant direction of twinkling blue eyes and hair that curled around her fingers as she ran them through it. Humming to herself as she slid the books smoothly back into their spaces, Belle turned the corner of the stacks and stopped dead, her mouth falling open at the sight of Emma and Killian in their habitual corner, twined around each other, engaged in a full-on makeout session.
Liam’s going to be thrilled, was Belle’s first thought.
Her second was that she should probably put a stop to this. She was relieved to see that all their clothes were still on and all four hands on the correct side of them, but she knew what teenagers were like and already they seemed to have lost all awareness of their surroundings. Not wanting to embarrass them, she dropped a book heavily onto the metal cart in front of her, as if by accident, then glanced back at them quickly out of the corner of her eye. They hadn’t noticed. She picked up a heavier book and dropped it from a greater height. It landed on the cart with a resounding thunk, knocking several other books onto the floor. She looked back at the couple in the corner. If anything they were going at it with even greater enthusiasm.
Belle sighed and stomped over to them, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she cleared her throat loudly. No response. “Seriously?” she shouted, embarrassingly loudly especially for a librarian, and they finally sprang apart, blinking dazedly, clearly trying to remember where they were.
Belle’s third thought —a wildly inappropriate one, she chastised herself— was that if Killian kissed anything like Liam did, then she could entirely relate to the glassy, awe-stricken look on Emma’s face. Belle was pretty sure she’d felt that same expression grace her own face a time or two.
“Miss French,” Emma scrambled out of Killian’s lap, her face flushing bright red. “I’m so sorry, we just— we were just—” she dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, God, this is so embarrassing!”
Before Belle could reply Killian caught her eye and raised an eyebrow at her, waving his fingers in a significant manner, reminding her sharply that his hands had only been on Emma’s bum, and in her hair. Belle flushed nearly as red as Emma.
“We should probably stop,” Belle gasped, tearing her mouth from Liam’s, moaning as his moved directly to her nipple, pushing her shirt aside and sucking it to a hard peak through the lace of her bra. “Won’t Killian be home soon?”
“Emma’s away this weekend, he’ll be walking home,” Liam growled against her skin. “We have time.” His mouth latched onto her nipple again, teasing it with his teeth and tongue as his fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh. She let her head fall back onto the arm of the sofa and her legs fall open, inviting his fingers to explore further, whimpering softly as they teased the lacy edge of her panties before sliding beneath.
The door opened. “Liam, I’m— bloody hell!!”
Liam yanked his hand away like he’d been burned and tried to untangle himself from Belle as she scrambled to pull her shirt up and her skirt down. Killian had turned to face the wall, his ears bright red but his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Dammit, Killian, I thought you’d be later,” Liam choked, turning concerned eyes to Belle as she righted her clothing, her cheeks flaming red.
“Sheriff Swan gave me a lift,” Killian replied. “If I’d known what I was coming home to, I’d have bloody walked.” His eyes darted over just long enough to note how rumpled and flushed they still were, and he sighed. “I’m just going to go hide my room now, and try to forget this ever happened. See you tomorrow, Miss French.” He shot them a smirk. “Hopefully less of you.”
Belle’s cheeks flamed brighter and Liam promised himself he would give his brother a good smack upside the head for his cheeky mouth sometime later. He turned to Belle, who buried her face in her hands.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, and Liam ground his teeth, cursing how close he’d come to hearing her moan that in a very different context, “How am I going to face him tomorrow?”
“Shhh, love,” he soothed, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close. “Killian has a smart mouth sometimes but he wouldn’t ever want you to be truly uncomfortable. He won’t say anything about it. And if he does, I’ll kick his scrawny arse into next Tuesday, how does that sound?”
But Liam had been right. The next morning Killian had appeared in the library as usual, meeting her eyes and giving her a bright smile. “Hey, Miss French,” he’d said. “How was your weekend? Mine was entirely uneventful.”
She owed him her discretion, Belle thought.
“Don’t worry, Emma,” she said kindly. “I didn’t see anything. Though it might be better if you, er, took this outside.”
Emma nodded, leaping to her feet and grabbing her backpack. Killian moved at a more sedate pace but he shot Belle a grateful smile as he picked up his satchel. Belle watched them go, sighing a little as Killian took Emma’s hand, lacing their fingers together and lifting it to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of it. He was definitely his brother’s… brother, thought Belle, flushing again as another memory assailed her.
She might have a cup of tea, she thought. Settle her nerves a bit. And possibly send Liam a little text.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emma and Killian left the library then stopped in the middle of the empty hallway, unsure of where to go. There was still twenty minutes left of fifth period then lunch, which they normally spent in the library.
“Let’s go out,” said Emma.
“What?”
“I don’t want to go sit in the cafeteria, and we obviously can’t go back to the library. Let’s go out.”
“Where?” asked Killian. Storybrooke didn’t have much to offer in the way of dining options, and they couldn’t go to Granny’s when they were supposed to be at school.
“There’s a roadside diner just outside of town,” Emma replied. “We should be able to get there and back in time if we leave now.”
He squeezed her hand and smiled. “Sounds brilliant, love.”
She smiled back, getting lost in his eyes for a moment before remembering they were standing in the school hallway and time was ticking away.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him by the hand as they hurried to her car.
Fifteen minutes later they were snuggling in a booth at the diner, arms around each other’s waists and shoulders as they waited for their burgers and onion rings. This diner was smaller than Granny’s, and grimier, and the patrons were all watching them with a curious mixture of suspicion and disinterest, but true to teenage form they noticed none of this. Their eyes were only for each other.
“So,” said Emma, “Does this mean we’re dating?”
“Well, I hope so, Swan, otherwise you’ve been leading me on in an absolutely deplorable manner.”
She laughed. “And what— what about Aurora?” she ventured, not wishing to ruin the mood but needing the air completely cleared between them.
“What about her?” Killian replied absently, distracted by the way Emma’s hair caught the sunlight and gleamed like spun gold.
“I saw you,” she said. “And Aurora. Last week. She kissed you.”
Killian seemed to snap out of his daze, his eyes flying to hers, suddenly clear and sharp. “You saw that?” he said, an odd, sorrowful note in his voice. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “That was nothing,” he murmured. “She kissed me, yes, but I didn’t kiss her. Told her off, actually.” He chuckled. “It’s possible that some of my lingering anger about Milah may have leaked out. I’m a bit tired of women trying to take things from me that I don’t want to give.”
“So you weren’t ever… with her?” Emma murmured against his neck, fighting the urge to crawl back into his lap again.
“Definitely not. I am actually kind of glad glad she kissed me, though.” He smiled as she pulled back, glaring at him. “It helped clear my mind, helped me see how much I love you. That I don’t have to fear my memories anymore. I’m only sorry I took so long.”
“You had a lot to work through.”
“Yes I did, and I’m not entirely finished. There’s still a lot of anger, lots of unresolved emotions, things I may always be dealing with. But I’m so much better than I was.”
He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. “I want you to know, Emma, that I’ve always felt… drawn to you, from the beginning, that very first time I saw you in English class.”
“You did?” she whispered.
“Of course. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, boldly staring me down, looking like she wanted to see into my soul? I never stood a chance. I started falling for you right away, but for a long time my feelings for you and my feelings about Milah, my memories of what happened with her, they were all sort of tangled up together and I wasn’t sure what was what or which was which. Every time I touched you memories of her would intrude, and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want anything associated with my past to get anywhere near you, but I didn’t know how to make them stop. I just knew that I was a bloody mess, and you deserved better.”
“Killian—”
“I still think that, love, and cannot fathom what you see in me, though I’m resolved not to question it and simply accept my astounding good fortune.”
“You don’t know what I see in you?” she protested, “You don’t know that you’re gorgeous and funny and the smartest person I’ve ever met? And that just being near you makes me so happy?”
“That last thing is all I want, Emma,” he said softly. “Just for you to be happy. So if being with me ensures your happiness, then I’ll be at your side for as long as you wish.”
“You’ll be there forever, then,” she declared, kissing him once more as their food arrived. They smiled into each other’s eyes for a long moment, foreheads resting together, then Emma kissed his nose and turned away.
“Are we gonna eat or what?” she said. “I’m starving.”
“Well, you have worked up quite the appetite, darling.”
#cs au ff#high school au#teenage captain swan#a hint of smut#another brick in the wall#profdanglaisstuff
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